Bunny Profiles
by Poet Wroet
Summary: Plot bunny storage file. Starts of stories that probably won't be finished. Mostly involving Reid and Hotch. Stories are abandoned with a very slim chance of ever being sought out again; thus I didn't spell-check. Read at your own peril.
1. How They Met

The first time it happened, it was a nondescript day. Well, as nondescript as any day on a case could be, Hotch supposed. They had been here for nine days now.

Hotch got a phone call from Haley. Apparently, some creep had texted a message to their landline. That had the possibility of being a stalker or someone having entered the wrong phone number; however, the usefulness of the message didn't fit with that pattern.

The message read this: "Agent Hotchner, the MO of the murders in Oklahoma corresponds with ancient Greek ritual killings."

Well, that was just plain weird. After calming Haley down, he called Unit Chief Jason Gideon. Gideon understood his concern, intended to follow up the lead and had the technical analyst track down the phone that had send the message.

They cracked the case within a day, thanks to that lead. Unfortunately, the phone appeared to be harder to find. The signal came from Caltech, and there didn't appear to be due cause for further investigation. Besides Haley being worried sick.

Perhaps three months later, Haley called Hotch again distressed. There had been another text message send to their phone. Again, it helped them solve the case. Again, it was ruled there was no due cause for concern.

After the third text message, Hotch send a message back with his own cell phone. It politely requested that the other stopped sending messages to that particular phone number, but that it could send any such information to Hotch's cell phone. The next time a message came, it arrived indeed on Hotch's cell.

It then fell into some sort of pattern. Every two or three months, Hotch would receive a text message. Hotch tried to call back – never mind the caller ID had been blocked, that's why they had technical analysts – and text back, but it never received a response. Then suddenly the location changed. The message had come from Las Vegas once before but it had now come from MIT three times in a row.

The thing was, the information had helped them crack more than one case. It had sometimes helped them identify the unsub quicker than they had hoped for. More than one victim had been saved because of it.

What was also interesting was that the information showed no inside knowledge of the case; it was based almost solely on what the media had reported. A message usually consisted of this: "Agent Hotchner, the MO of the murders in (state) corresponds with (Shakespearean methods of killing, ancient rituals, whatever it was). It was always about murder, which could be explained because of the information that could be gained from the media alone on killings – besides the fact that any other crime didn't get as much attention, a rape didn't leave a body that was photographed by media. Nor did a kidnapping. The information Hotch got wasn't always useful, but it was always right. Sometimes it was information they already had, sometimes it was new.

Hotch was considering convincing Gideon to allow him to call MIT and ask about any transferees from Caltech – there was this loophole in regulations allowing for Bureau agents to check on "persons of interest". Persons of interest were civilians who were desirable for the Bureau to employ or to recruit because of certain factors, which meant an extreme aptitude for something or another, most of the time. However, quite suddenly the messages stopped. Instead he got calls from payphones anywhere in Cambridge, Massachusetts. It were always payphones with no camera surveillance nearby and never twice the same one. When Hotch picked up the phone, a muffled voice would say, "Agent Hotchner? It's me." The person on the other side would then blatantly ignore whatever Hotch had to say – it were always questions but he did offer a "thank you" now and then – and deliver his message in the same style he had previously delivered his text messages. Never mind that one just didn't ignore Hotch. The times when Hotch didn't answer the phone he would get a voicemail which was exactly the same as any of the text messages had been.

It should have been investigated. Of course it should have been. The thing was, though, that it was explainable. Someone who knew just about anything could have gotten all this information from media coverage only. And it would be quite impossible that for the last four years, the BAU had solved cases helped by anonymous messages from someone who didn't appear to have an ulterior motive.

When a case took them to Cambridge, it was damn near impossible to stop himself from investigating. He knew Gideon was curious, too. Then he got a surprising phone call.

"Agent Hotchner?" The muffled voice again. Funny, this time it wasn't followed by the ever-present "It's me." Hotch was curious, because the voice seemed to be expecting an answer this time.

"Yes?" Hotch replied warily.

"I have no idea about the MO of this victim, but I wondered if you wanted to meet once your case is over?"

If it had been anyone other than Hotch, he might have fainted. Of course, this was Hotch, and Hotch didn't faint, but he was surprised.

Hotch was shocked into silence, though.

Then the voice on the other side lost some of its ever-present control and began to ramble just a bit. "Of course, you don't have to, and it's not that I want something from you, but I thought you might want to know who has been sending you messages for the past four years."

Strangely enough, Hotch believed him.

Hotch didn't want to give too much away, though. He decided not to tell the other person that yes, he wanted to meet with him, but searched for information first. "Are there any conditions tied to that proposal?" Hotch asked just a bit warily.

The voice on the other end paused for a second but replied quickly. "We meet in public, which can be anything from a park bench to a diner, but not a police station. It should be within a ten mile radius from MIT and not more than a mile from public transport. I'm coming alone, you can bring someone. You can pick the time providing I don't have other plans, which I usually don't but I do go to university. Oh, and if you want to go to a diner or something, I'm not covering your expenses."

Hotch thought it sounded very reasonable, although that last line was a bit.. over the top. _Socially awkward,_ Hotch's mind supplied. Actually, those conditions were pretty lax. He was allowing Hotch to decide everything. Hotch desperately wanted to ask the other man's name or anything really, but he knew that would be useless. He also was curious about the other man apparently relying on public transport.

"I'll have to discuss this. Where can I reach you?" Hotch answered.

The other person didn't appear to have thought of that. "I'll send you a message with my cell phone later this evening. You can reach me there."

Hotch was surprised. "Why the change from cell phone to payphones anyway?" He really was curious about that. Hotch knew that he was always nearing informal speech when talking to this person, but when you didn't even know the gender of the other person – although he was pretty sure it was male – it made it difficult sometimes.

The other person hesitated for a moment. "I was concerned you might be tracking it. Any smart person would have tracked it, so I don't blame you if you did. But I didn't want you to succeed in tracking me down. You can of course track my cell now, but what use would that be? I've already offered to meet with you and I'm not going to answer any of the questions you've been asking for the last two years if you do." He was silent for a moment. "By the way, I don't have a gun license nor a criminal record."

Hotch blinked, stunned at what the man had said just because it was true. The last sentence, though, surprised him again. Mostly because of the wording.

"Interesting wording there. You don't have a gun license. Most people would say they don't carry a gun."

The person on the other side replied, his voice muffled as it ever was but still managing to sound as if the statement was completely logical without sounding demeaning. "I don't, but there is no way you would just believe that because I say it. At the beginning of this conversation I addressed you as agent Hotchner, thus implying I know you are a Federal Agent. I am pretty sure I am calling you on your work phone. And although the law on lying to a Federal Agent outside of an investigation is pretty hazy, I don't want to get in trouble for it. By saying I don't have a gun license I am stating a fact which you would be able to confirm if you would know my name. Saying I don't carry a gun is also stating a fact but is a lot harder for you to confirm. Thus I say I don't have a gun license."

Hotch was impressed. "Well-reasoned."

The other person was silent for a moment, and Hotch thought he might have shrugged. "I have studied psychology."

That was also something Hotch found intriguing. As long as Hotch only asked for semi-useful, trivial information, he would get semi-useful, trivial information, but it wasn't just answering questions (now and then) – it was actively volunteering information. If Hotch asked what he really wanted to know – who was this person? – he wouldn't get an answer.

"Was that all, Agent Hotchner?" The other voice was polite, but the conversation had stretched out quite a bit. Really, Hotch wasn't used to making long phone calls. Most of his phone calls consisted of "Agent Hotchner – We'll be there right away" on cases, and he really did most of his conversations in person. Not that he and Haley couldn't chat for an hour.

This was also the first time the other voice hadn't hung up on him. Oh, he did say goodbye sometimes, but never asked if there was more. Hotch was pleased, it appeared as though he was building some rapport.

After concluding the conversation he set to call Gideon.

Gideon was curious about this man, Hotch knew, and as expected, didn't really need convincing. The two of them would meet him.

As Hotch finished the call, he saw he had a text message. He smiled when he saw the caller ID wasn't blocked.

Three days later, they had finished the case. Hotch called the other person and they agreed to meet for lunch. They "chatted" for a while in the same style as they had three days earlier. Hotch was intrigued. When Hotch asked the other man how they would recognize him, the other hesitated.

"I'm a lot younger than you expect. I'm male. I will search you out."

That was also interesting. Saying he was "a lot" younger than Hotch would expect him to be implied that even if he adjusted his guess as to the other man's age, he would be wrong. Hotch didn't doubt the other man – he was apparently right as to the gender of the other – would know what Hotch looked like. He had found his phone number, and there had to be some pictures from him online somewhere. It could even be from TV coverage.

It appeared, though, that even a thrice-adjusted guess to the other man's age would have been wrong.

The man on the other side of the table looked like a teenager and dressed as an ancient college professor. Hotch likely would have stared or done something stupid if not for the fact that he was Aaron Hotchner and that he didn't stare. Gideon, of course, was unsurprised, but it was nearly impossible to surprise Gideon.

"I'm Spencer Reid. Well, it's actually Dr. Spencer Reid now." If the man wouldn't have radiated sincerity, Hotch wouldn't have believed him. As it was, he was still doubtful. Hotch and Gideon introduced themselves. As they had decided, Hotch took the lead in the conversation.

"So you're the one who has been contacting me the past four years." Hotch said neutrally. It must have been more than the supposed doctor expected, because he seemed to relax somewhat. Honestly, even if Gideon and Hotch had been sure the other man was lying, they would have progressed like this, so it didn't really mean anything.

"Yes, sir. You are the only one on your team whose name I had that wears a wedding ring. I figured that if I tried to find your phone number, I would have the most chance of someone giving you my message."

That was impressive thinking. And Spencer Reid was either a master manipulator and psychopath – and the BAU could usually spot these a mile away – or he was honestly telling the truth. But for someone so young, the latter option would be nearly impossible. On the other hand, the first option was perhaps even more impossible for someone that age. This Spencer Reid also didn't behave in the way a psychopath would – he showed nervousness, for example.

Needless to say, Hotch was even more intrigued.

"That's good thinking," Gideon replied.

Reid flashed him a surprised smile. "Thanks."

"You were right," Hotch said. "You're younger than I expected."

Reid nodded. "I get that a lot. I'm eighteen, in case you were wondering. That's indirectly the reason why I was protective of my identity before I reached my majority."

Hotch knew better than to ask for the full reason.

"It's impressive to have a doctorate at your age," Gideon replied, sounding sincere and curious.

Reid shrugged. "Of course it is. Most people are demotivated by the age requirement."

Hotch didn't know what he meant by that. "What do you mean?"

"You have to be eighteen before you can receive a doctorate. That implies it's impossible to meet the requirements before you have reached that age and implies it's unlikable to do so before you're twenty-six. Which isn't bad thinking, but it's demotivating and illogical."

Hotch was honestly curious what this man thought would be an appropriate age to receive a doctorate.

Gideon asked. "What age do you think you could have received one?"

"I didn't really work on it after I was sixteen," Reid admitted. "Afterwards, I thought about studying for another, but I decided to go for BAS, because it's just silly to have to wait two years between finishing and presenting your thesis. I have three BAS now, in chemistry, engineering and psychology. I'm starting for a BAS in sociology next semester. I'm also working on getting a doctorate in chemistry. The one I have now is in mathematics." He all said this as though he was talking about the weather.

The waitress came by so they could order their lunches


	2. After Georgia

**This is not meant to be father/son or slash, although it can probably be read as such. Haven't you ever fallen asleep holding a friend's hand? Keeps away the nightmares every time.**

After Hankel, Reid had to stay in the hospital because of his involuntary addiction to Dilaudid. The CPR had also broken a few ribs, which is why he needed medics nearby during his withdrawal – if he started thrashing, he could possibly puncture a lung. However, he refused to allow the team entry to his hospital room and insisted they should go home.

In the end, they did. Reid had to stay for at least a week and there really was nothing the team could do. They stretched their stay by completing every scrap of paperwork in Georgia instead of in Quantico, but eventually, Strauss demanded their return.

What Hotch hadn't told anyone else, was that on the day after they had 'rescued' Reid (because truthfully, Reid had rescued himself), Hotch had received a call from the hospital.

"Agent Hotchner," he had said.

"Nurse Lesley Thomas, Doctors Hospital of.." the woman on the other side of the line had started to say.

"Is everything alright? Are you calling about Spencer Reid?" Hotch had interrupted worriedly.

"Everything is alright, sir," the nurse had spoken reassuringly. "Dr. Reid just had a nightmare and I can't convince him that you are alright. Would you mind speaking to him on the phone?"

Of course Hotch didn't mind. "I'll talk to him," he had said quickly.

"Hotch?" a weak voice had sounded. "You're really alright?"

"I am," Hotch had said in his calmest voice. "Are you?"

"God, Hotch, I'm sorry," Reid had said in a teary voice. "I thought he was going to kill you. He said he would."

"Do you want me to come over?" Hotch had asked, although he was pretty sure he knew what the answer would be.

"No, don't," Reid had said quickly. "I'm sorry. I was just worried."

"No need to be," Hotch had reassured him again. "I'm fine, and so is everyone else on the team. You just get better now, okay?"

Reid had mumbled an "I will, thanks," before the nurse took the phone again.

Now Hotch's cellphone was ringing. "Hotchner," he said without looking at the screen. He had just been reading Jack a bedtime story.

"Hotch? I'm sorry for calling."

Why was Reid calling? Hotch was worried. "Any time, Reid. What's up?"

"Just wanted to know you're alright," Reid said softly, his voice dry and scratchy – Reid had probably just woken. "I had a nightmare. Raphael killed you while I was watching. And Tobias was angry with me because I had caused your death."

How did one respond to that? "I'm really alright, Reid. I was just reading Jack a bedtime story. Want to listen in? We can talk after that."

"Okay," Reid said amiably.

Hotch just continued the story where it had left off. He had no doubt Reid could keep up, if he wanted to.

Once Jack was fully asleep, Hotch left the room and spoke into his cell phone. "Reid?"

There was no answer on the other end of the line, however. Hotch kept on the call for a few minutes – he suspected Reid was asleep, but wasn't sure.

After a few minutes, there was some noise on the other end of the line. "Hello?" a female voice said. "Dr. Reid has fallen asleep during your phone call. Perhaps you can call back later?"

"I'll do that," Hotch said with a smile, although the woman – a nurse, probably – couldn't see that. "Thank you."

Once Reid was back at home – still on sick leave, but no longer in the hospital – Hotch visited. He knew Reid had told Gideon and Morgan and JJ not to visit, but he did it anyway.

"Hotch," Reid said as he opened the door. "Come in."

Hotch was surprised at the ease with which he was allowed into Reid's apartment – he had expected to have to talk his way inside – but didn't let that show on his face.

Once they were both sitting – Reid on the couch, Hotch in a chair – and both had something to drink, Hotch spoke up. "How are you?"

"Fine," Reid replied automatically before correcting himself. "I will be, at least."

Hotch nodded, waiting for Reid to continue.

"I keep dreaming," Reid spoke after long pause. "Those murders I watched when I had to pick who was to die, and then.. I was sure you were going to die, you know? I knew you wouldn't allow yourself to be killed, but still."

Hotch nodded. "You didn't have a choice, Reid," he said softly.

Reid nodded jerkily. "I know."

They sat in silence for a while before Reid whispered in a broken voice, "I keep seeing things happen. I can't stop it."

Hotch moved to the couch Reid was sitting on. He didn't say anything, just grasped Reid's hand and held tight. Reid clutched Hotch's hand as if it were a lifeline. They didn't speak, but no words were necessary. They just sat together, long into the night, Hotch's presence reassuring Reid that his words – _I choose Aaron Hotchner –_ hadn't killed Hotch.

Eventually, Reid fell asleep. Hotch set an alarm on his phone – he did have to go to work the next morning – and also allowed himself to fall asleep, their fingers still touching. They didn't fall asleep on top of each other, or anything similarly embarrassing – both had their own corner of the couch, with their hands lying in the middle.

Reid slept peacefully that night, and so did Hotch, his sleep for once not plagued by images of Reid choking.


	3. Abused Reid

**A/N – yes, this story ends in a half-sentence. I've written these two pages over a year ago and I have no idea what I wanted to say next.**

It's one of those team nights that Gideon never takes part in. Dinner and movies. Usually a comedy, because it can't be too scary (unsubs are for work, Garcia said), nor too romantic or girl-centered (the men would be bored). And for a nice night out, a tragedy simply isn't the solution.

Some nights, though, they just sit and talk, or play board games. Sometimes they play silly games, like truth or dare. Tonight is one without a movie. They just talk and discuss anything that isn't unsub.

Reid is still a little awkward and tends to ramble, but it's gotten better in the eleven months he's been with the team. Currently, they are discussing ethics. It revolved around alcohol and blame, mostly. If a parent is addicted to alcohol and abuses a child when drunk, what should happen after the parent stops drinking?

Reid's statement, that if the child wants to go back or stay, he or she should be able to, hints at something else.

"Reid – were you –" Hotch asks softly. He was sitting next to Reid, and his voice is low enough to avoid overhearing.

Reid frowns, and when it dawns on him what Hotch means, he shakes his head. "No, why do you think that?"

It's genuine enough, but Hotch has doubts. "You sounded as though you spoke from experience," Hotch elaborates, the question still slightly present in his voice.

Reid gives Hotch a penetrating look. "I may have gone to high school at ten, but my childhood wasn't that much different from yours."

And to everyone else, it would have been an assurance. To everyone but Hotch.

Because Hotch's childhood.. it wasn't exactly something he would wish on anyone.

To Hotch, it was a damnation.

Hotch doesn't tell anyone about what Reid had said, not even to Reid himself. This is mostly because he doesn't see what good it would do, and because he knows Reid wouldn't want him to. Surprisingly enough, it doesn't really matter to him that talking to Reid about it would mean admitting he's also been abused as a child.

But the way Reid had practically said 'if you're not abused, nor am I' was also interesting. Reid was drawing parallels. Hotch was pretty sure Reid also meant: I don't want to talk about it, nor do you. I'm over it, so are you. I don't want to publicly acknowledge I have been abused, nor do you.

Hotch also recognizes Reid's words as a challenge. Because Hotch could have interpreted them in three ways: 1) Reid was lying, had been abused, and thought Hotch wasn't; 2) Reid wasn't abused and thought Hotch wasn't abused, either; or 3) Reid was abused and also recognized that Hotch had been abused.

His respect for Reid went up a notch. Because Haley didn't know. Gideon didn't know. And the others didn't, either. Dave Rossi knew, although he'd never acknowledged it.

And Reid knew.

There were instances when Hotch could have talked to Reid about it. After the ER in Des Plaines, when Hotch had kicked the crap out of Reid and Reid said that Hotch kicked like a nine-year-old girl. The Fisher King case was another one. That one actually gave Hotch a major clue. He'd always assumed Reid's father had been the abuser. Now he suspected it might have been Reid's mentally ill mother.

During the case with the bank robber who made people strip, Reid gave Hotch a look full of understanding now and then. It wasn't pity, just silent acknowledgement. Near the end of the case, Hotch nodded back once.

They didn't speak of it, but that wasn't necessary.

Hankel came and went, and "I knew you'd understand" meant more to Hotch than to the other team members.

After Chester Hardwick, on the way back,


	4. After Maeve

After Maeve was shot, Reid broke down crying. Morgan went to check Maeve's pulse, even though all knew she was dead. Still, they had to be sure. Morgan's resigned look when he stood again was enough confirmation.

Rossi and Hotch exchanged a look. Hotch's clearly said _I'll handle this _and he gave a nod towards the door. Rossi, getting the message, gestured to Morgan and Blake that they should leave and gently led JJ to the door.

Hotch crouched down next to Reid, who had fallen to his knees. He didn't speak, knowing that there was nothing to say.

Just as Reid's sobs began to lose their hysterical edge, the room swarmed full of police and EMT's. Hotch used his body to shield Reid from their view and to shield Maeve, who was body-bagged and loaded onto a stretcher, from Reid. The team also re-entered the room.

Hotch brought his hand to Reid's arm and brought him into a standing position. He then led Reid from the room to an ambulance. His arm had been shot, after all. Reid was dazed and didn't seem to notice much, lost in his grief.

As the EMT's brought Reid to a hospital, Hotch made sure to stay with Reid, hovering at the edge of his vision. He didn't want Reid to be alone.

In the ER, Hotch refused narcotics on Reid's behalf, which he could do because Reid was nearly unresponsive and Hotch held Reid's power of attorney. Hotch continued to be in the same room as Reid, even when Reid was given a sedative and fell asleep. He didn't want to leave Reid alone right now.

Even in his sleep, tears continued to run down Reid's face.

INSERT LINE

Reid was released in the early afternoon of the next day. He had refused to see any team members, although he did tolerate Hotch's presence. Hotch didn't know if it was because Reid knew Hotch had been largely through the same, or because he knew Hotch wouldn't leave.

Hotch drove Reid home. When they were two streets from Reid's apartment, Hotch spoke up. Reid hadn't spoken since Maeve's death.

"Take as long as you need. And if you need anything – anything at all – give me a call. Okay?"

Reid only gave a small nod, but Hotch hadn't expected anything more.

Hotch walked with Reid to the door of his apartment building. Just before Reid opened the door, he spoke a barely audible "Thanks" before fleeing inside.

INSERT LINE

The next day, Hotch stopped by Reid's apartment. There was a gift basked outside – most likely from Garcia.

Hotch knocked on the door. "Reid? It's Hotch. I'm here. You don't have to let me in if you don't want to."

Hotch stayed for fifteen minutes. Now and again, he heard movement, but Reid didn't speak. Hotch hadn't expected him to, either.

Hotch knocked on the door again. "I'm going – I'll stop by again tomorrow."

This continued for four days. Every day, Hotch knocked on Reid's door and told him he was there. After fifteen minutes, he would knock again to tell Reid he was leaving and would be back tomorrow.

Nothing changed, except that there were now three gift baskets outside.

Hotch wasn't angry that Reid wouldn't let him in, nor was he impatient. He was just letting Reid know that he was there, and that he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to.

On the fifth day, the door opened when Hotch knocked. Hotch blinked at the sight before him. Reid looked as though he hadn't washed or changed clothes in days. Hotch realized that was likely to be the case.

Reid didn't invite Hotch inside, he just stepped half out. He looked in Hotch's general direction, though not at Hotch himself.

"I got an invitation to Maeve's f.." Reid's breath hitched. "Maeve's funeral." Tears ran down his face again.

Hotch gave a short nod. "When is it?"

Reid blinked, surprised by the question. "Day after tomorrow," he mumbled. "Ten o'clock. The funeral home is two streets from her parent's house."

"Do you need a ride?" Hotch thought that was the most plausible reason Reid was telling him this – because he didn't want to be alone.

Reid nodded hesitantly. "If you don't have anything to do."

Hotch thought it best not to say that Hotch would cancel any plans he might have had.

"I'll be here at eight o'clock to help you get ready."

Reid nodded and opened his mouth, then closed it. He opened it again. "They asked me to speak."

Hotch nodded. "Will you?"

Reid looked lost again. "I don't know." Immediately after that, he hurried through the door from his apartment and closed the door.

Hotch waited fifteen minutes before knocking on the door again and telling Reid he was going. Then he left.

INSERT LINE

As it turned out, Reid did speak at Maeve's funeral. He spoke few words,


	5. Caryl Stone

Aaron Hotchner sighed as he opened the letter the detective had just delivered him. The case wasn't going well. The unsub was a male rapist whose sole goal appeared to be rape, and killed just to cover his tracks. He didn't torture, didn't keep his victims for a long time, he broke the victim's necks cleanly and effectively, which was quite a humane way to die. On the other hand, he didn't show remorse: the bodies were not posed, just dumped. There were no signs of narcotics or restraints, so the victims were most likely scared into compliance. There had been no contact between the unsub and the media or police.

But there was no apparent connection between the victims either, other than them all being from the general vicinity of Wisconsin. Garcia had been flown in to check out every possible lead on their computers and smartphones, but she hadn't found anyone. It had been two weeks since the murders started, six days since the BAU had come in, and there were ten victims.

That was a lot.

Sighing once more, Hotch turned his attention to the letter. The stamp on the envelope showed it came from North Carolina. The letter was addressed to SSA Aaron Hotchner, with as address the Appleton Police Station, where the BAU had set up. Both the address and the letter were printed.

_To SSA Aaron Hotchner:_

_My name is Caryl Stone and I might have a lead for you on the case of the rapist in Wisconsin. If you come and converse with me in person, I will present you with the information I have._

_Feel free to bring any members of your team along, but I will not talk without yourself being present._

_Caryl Stone_

Hotch's eyebrows rose. This was interesting. The demand to talk with him in person or not at all was curious, to say the least, but what was even more interesting was that she referred to the unsub as a rapist.

As far as Hotch was aware, the media referred to him as a murderer who raped, and not a rapist who killed. He'd have to check that..

"JJ, Garcia," Hotch said loud enough to be heard clearly. Both looked at him.

"JJ, have the media referenced to this unsub as anything other than a murderer? Focused attention on the fact that he also is a rapist, perhaps?"

JJ looked puzzled by the question, but answered nevertheless. "No, they are mostly focused on him being a murderer. Why?"

Hotch ignored the question and instead told her to assemble a team meeting in an hour. Then he turned to Garcia. "Give me everything you can on Caryl Stone," he told her.

Garcia searched for a minute. "Dr. Caryl Stone, thirty-two.. She teaches Forensics Linguistics at the University of North Carolina, lives alone and has no criminal record, not even a single fine. Oh! She changed her name when she was eighteen, formerly she was Corin Jones. Corin Jones has two sisters and a foster brother, she's the youngest. Oh! Born in Wisconsin, lived there until she was eighteen."

Hotch nodded. "Alright, has she ever had contact with police as a victim of a violent crime?"

Garcia shook her head, "No. But she has consulted with PD all over North Carolina a number of times, mainly about written threats."

Hotch frowned. "Ok. JJ, I want the plane ready in two hours. I want to talk to her."

JJ raised her eyebrows. "Okay, what's this about?"

Hotch ignored the question again and instead started to clear the desk where he had been working.

INSERT LINE

"Alright. This letter was sent to me by mail," Hotch started, projecting the letter at the wall. "What sticks out is that she demands to see me specifically; that she refers to the unsub as a rapist, and not, as the media has been projecting him, as a murderer; and lastly that she does not use her title. Dr. Caryl Stone, thirty-two, was born as Corin Jones in Wisconsin. I want to know what kind of information she has and whether or not she is a victim of this same unsub. She has a doctorate in Linguistics and is a Forensic Linguistics professor."

"So she knows what the effect of her words will be on us," Reid said. "I mean, Forensic Linguistics is all about assessing the value of words in death threats and other such messages."

The team discussed some other particulars and possibilities about this letter and Dr. Stone. After an hour, Hotch concluded, "Prentiss, I want you to come with me, we're going to North Carolina. The plane leaves in an hour. The rest of you, call me when you find something. If there's no time for that, Rossi is in charge."

INSERT LINE

Once in North Carolina, Prentiss and Hotch made their way to the house of Dr. Stone. They hoped she would be home – it was one o'clock on Saturday, so everything was possible. If it had been a weekday they would have gone to the University, but as it was, they would just have to hope she would be home.

They knocked on the door of a home on the outskirts of the town she lived in. The home had the style of a farm from the ninety-thirties that had been converted in a home. It had modern security, though – there was a camera above the door and a speaker system. "Who is requesting entrance?" a voice suddenly said through the speakers. It was a soft voice, and not at all demanding. However it also made it quite plain that they would not get in without answering.

"SSA Aaron Hotchner and SSA Emily Prentiss," Hotch replied.

"Please present your credentials to the camera above the door," the woman – most likely Dr. Stone – answered.

Hotch and Prentiss shared a glance.

This was.. interesting.

Nevertheless, they complied, and a minute after the woman had thanked them, they heard a voice behind them.

"Good day, agents. I'm Caryl Stone. Please follow me," she said. The woman was a blonde with shoulder-length hair that fell loosely around her face. She looked all business, but not formal. In her hand was a cane. She didn't appear to be armed otherwise. She looked.. in control . That was about the only way to describe it. Of course, seeing as Hotch himself had just travelled to the other side of the country and followed all her instructions so far, she was quite in control. It made Hotch wary, but not nervous.

They followed the woman around the house, which they noted had a curious amount of security, to a backyard that was visible from the road. Here there was a large table with eight seats. She gestured to two seats – she appeared to want them to sit in specific seats, for some reason – and then took another herself. Hotch noted that if they would take the seats she'd gestured to, there would be two seats between Prentiss and Dr. Stone, and three between Hotch and the woman.

The woman had walked slightly irregular, but not enough to be called limping, and didn't put all that much pressure on the cane. This, combined with the security around the building and the positions around the table, could all be called highly defensive. Just who was this woman?

Once Prentiss and Hotch had sat down, the woman spoke up. "Do you want something to drink?" she asked. Both declined, and she reached under that table for a bottle of water which she opened and took a sip from. Hotch really did not know what to make of this situation. The woman was confident and in control – like Hotch usually was, in fact, but _more_, somehow – and somehow made him feel uncomfortable. He wondered if this was how he made other people feel sometimes.

Prentiss was a little bolder and appeared to want to say something. Dr. Stone noticed, too. She nodded towards her. "What is it you want to ask, Agent Prentiss?"

The control this woman had over this situation was really becoming scary. Hotch had wanted to start the conversation himself, but now Prentiss had to do so. He hoped she wouldn't be too sarcastic, because he didn't know how this woman would react. Best to treat her like a bomb, for the time being.

"Why did you ask us here, Dr. Stone?" Prentiss asked – with a notorious lack of sarcasm, Hotch noted, but a hint of impatience.

Dr. Stone nodded. "I have composed a file of information on someone who I believe can be the rapist," she answered.

Hotch decided to say something. "May I ask why you refer to him as a rapist, as opposed as killer?"

Dr. Stone had apparently expected that question. "His motive appears to be rape and not killing, as I'm sure you have noticed." Hotch noticed she didn't really answer the question – he was sure there was more. She continued. "If you open the drawer to your right, Agent Hotchner, you will find the information I have on this man, including how he would fit into these crimes. There is a summary of the file on top," she said.

Hotch opened the drawer and it was indeed there. While he looked through the file, Prentiss, unable to restrain her curiosity, asked another question. "You keep all this stuff outside?"

Dr. Stone answered with an unreadable expression on her face, but her tone was sharp. "I'm not about to let strangers into my home, _Agent Prentiss_," she said. "Those files have only been sitting here since you drove through the gate about half an hour ago."

Hotch noticed something in the file. "Messrs. Bill and Cornelis Cellson raped you when you were eight?"

Dr. Stone nodded, smiling positively _pleasantly_. The smile was so fake it hurt to look at. "I have always suspected them of being sexually abused themselves, possibly by their stepfather, who had quite a reputation in town. I would not know why a ten-year-old and a twelve-year-old would consider raping someone otherwise," she answered. "And if that is not true, there is still an undeniable pattern between Mr. Bill Cellson's moving around and people being raped in the area with a similar MO."

"How do you know all this, Dr. Stone?" Hotch asked, glad that they appeared to be on more common ground as opposed to Dr. Stone having higher ground.

Dr. Stone's smile froze, but didn't disappear. In a sharp tone, she continued, "Agent Hotchner. A rapist who already has expressed his _interest_ in me is out there, and I have the ability to keep tabs on him. Why wouldn't I?"

Hotch nodded, believing her.

"As for how I can spot the details, I have a degree in Criminology and I followed some classes in Criminal Justice. Understanding of those things is helpful in my field of work. Furthermore, all of this is public record."

Prentiss didn't appear to be satisfied. "Why did you never report this to the police? Or at least of your own assault?

Hotch was afraid Prentiss had gone too far, but he was curious himself. Dr. Stone did answer, though. "As for the first question, agent Prentiss, who would have believed me? For the second question there are multiple reasons, but one of those is that I wouldn't have been believed either."

"Why did you contact me, then?" Hotch asked.

Dr. Stone appeared to have anticipated that question, too. "You appear to do good work most of the time. And your willingness to come over ensures that you are also willing to at least consider the possibility of my story. Of course, I don't expect you to believe me on my word alone, but I don't expect you to dismiss me either. There are other reasons, but those are some of the main ones."

"Sounds like Megan Kane," Prentiss whispered under her breath. Hotch looked up sharply. Was this something similar? It could very well be true. Megan Kane was the prostitute and serial killer who apparently admired Hotch because he made an effort to stay in Jack's life after his divorce with Haley. It was possible Dr. Stone "admired" Hotch for a reason much like that. Hotch did have a tendency to listen to obscure testimonies and follow leads that came from them.. That could be it.

Dr. Stone continued. "The file is quite complete. I have separated information on Messrs. Cellson from information about the rapist and suspicions about the rapist, and there is a separate section on how things fit together."

Hotch nodded. He needed to look over this information and discuss things with Prentiss. He decided to wrap things up. "Dr. Stone, may we return tomorrow after we have read this file?"

Dr. Stone nodded. "What time would suit you?"

Hotch hesitated. "Would eleven o'clock be alright?" Nothing supported that this woman attended church.

"Yes, Agent Hotchner, that would be alright. Do not come before ten thirty, it's impolite to be too early."

Prentiss blanched. Who was this woman? But Hotch wasn't fazed in the slightest; if he was surprised, it was only because this woman had just said that outright. He had expected her to be


	6. Criminal Prevention Facility

Aaron Hotchner sighed. They had been on this case for three weeks now and were unable to crack it. Crime rates were at an all-time low, making the BAU's job much easier, but that didn't mean they could crack every case.

Crime rates were at an all-time low because of a new program that had been entered twelve years ago. High-risk children and adults were imprisoned before they had a chance to commit a crime. It was very controversial and in the first few years especially, there had been a lot of protest and international pressure. The United Nations had mostly stopped complaining after seeing the success, however, and although Unicef and Amnesty International hadn't stopped, and probably wouldn't stop complaining either, the program stayed intact.

High-risk were those with above average intelligence, certain personality disorders, behavioral problems… there were a lot of criteria, and it was easy to nail someone. Truthfully, Hotch was worried for his own son. Jack was nice and compassionate, but it was very easy to nail someone nowadays. If there was a complaint, the person – a child, most of the time – was nearly always found "guilty".

No one was really sure what happened in those Crime Prevention Facilities, as they were called. It was a bit like Guantanamo Bay, in a way – there were rarely any reports made, but there was suspicion. However most people turned the other way and pretended nothing was wrong. People would turn in their neighbors, school teachers turned in their students.. It was horrifying, in a way. The average university class was fifty-four per cent smaller now than it was twenty years ago.

And that had its consequences, too. The smartest people, the cherry toppings of society, were in those centers. The average age of scientists had never been higher than it was now, with the geniuses being imprisoned. Most that were imprisoned were, after all, teenagers.

Penelope Garcia had been lucky. She had been working for the FBI for a few months when the program was instated. Other "hackers" hadn't been so lucky. Even now, Garcia had been forced to move to Quantico, where it was easier to supervise her, and track her every move. She had to be careful not to move a toe out of line, because that would likely mean imprisonment for her. She was, after all, good at her job.

Jason Gideon had resigned and moved out of the country quickly after the program was first instated. He couldn't live in a country that supported this.

Hotch sighed once again and put his signature on the request. Hopefully, this would help them crack the case.

INSERT LINE

"Reid! Here." Spencer Reid immediately stood and moved towards the officer. He was roughly grabbed by the arm and moved to a security room. 'Not again,' Spencer thought. Sometimes, when someone – usually some law enforcement office – requested his presence, he first got a fair beating. That usually meant getting whipped five times in strategic places on his back, restricting quick movements, and his collarbone and a rib would be broken, or at least cracked. And he would get a few bruises, but that was something he got often enough without there being a specific reason. This was said to be for security – after all, outside the Facility, he wasn't as well guarded as inside, and to restrict his movements, they inflicted some damage.

Daily business. Nothing to worry about.

Glancing at the file the officer was carrying, Reid was just able to make out the letters "BAU". Shit. FBI. Those had to be worse than local law enforcement.

INSERT LINE

"I can't believe it! These people are dangerous!" Derek Morgan yelled at Hotch.

"Morgan, we have a serial killer out there who is dangerous and we're not close to catching this guy. Reid has worked with Law Enforcement before and solved cases. Perhaps he can help us before we find more bodies. Besides, he has a clean record. Admitted at sixteen after getting his second doctorate. He had never been arrested or suspected before that. He's a genius, Morgan, not a psychopath." Hotch returned.

"Let's just hope this kid can help us," Rossi said. "Who's guarding him?"

"We'll take that over when he gets here," Hotch said. "No arguments. Our team dynamics are effective and the more outside influence, the harder it will be to continue doing our jobs."

Morgan groaned. Jennifer Jareau playfully smacked him on the head, curious about this new guy.

"He'll be coming in an hour. Prentiss, you and Rossi stay here and brief him. Rossi, get him a lot of literature on catching serial killers. I don't mind who the author is," he said with a small smile.

INSERT LINE

"Here he comes," Prentiss said quietly. Rossi nodded and turned towards the door. The first impression was.. not good. The kid looked to be seventeen instead of twenty-three and was dangerously thin. He held himself as if injured and his eyes darted around the room. He was chained in the way the CPF-convicts always were: one handcuff around their right wrist with a chain leading to the belt of the officer escorting him. He held his left arm odd, as though his collarbone was injured.

"Here's Reid, Agents. Good luck." The escorting officer chained him to the table (with the end of the chain that led to his right wrist) and left.

"130946 Reid, sir, ma'am." said who was obviously Reid. He didn't meet her eyes, instead focused on her collar. Not knowing what the number he introduced himself with meant, Prentiss asked for clarification after introducing herself and Rossi.

"I'm Emily Prentiss, this is David Rossi. What does 130946 stand for?"

"13 is the number that identifies my facility, 0946 is my personal number inside the facility. Outside my personal number is thus 130946, ma'am."

Rossi looked a bit out of his dept. "How quickly do you read, Reid?" he asked instead of commenting.

"Before being admitted into CPF-13, I was timed at reading 21,462 words a minute. I have not read much the last seven years, so I do not know the exact number at the moment. I'm sorry, sir." He held himself as if expecting to be kicked. Prentiss and Rossi shared a glance.

"No, that's alright. How long do you think it will take you to work through these books?" Rossi asked pointing towards a stack of books, his voice turning just a fraction more friendly.

"About two thousand three hundred pages total? In between one and a half, two, I think, sir. I'm sorry for not being able to give you a better estimate, sir." He appeared nervous and again held himself as if expecting to be hit.

Prentiss and Rossi shared another glance. This boy – a child, really – acted as though he was severely abused. And that reading speed was phenomenal.

Prentiss took over. "Alright, I'll brief you on the case, then you can read those books and make notes of anything you think we might have missed. You can ask questions afterwards or meanwhile – unless you have any questions now?"

Reid appeared to hesitate. "If you have questions, please ask them now." Rossi said a bit impatiently.

Reid flinched. "I'm sorry, sir. I have no conclusive questions at this point."

"Alright. I'm going towards the latest crime scene before it's too contaminated. Prentiss, Hotch will be by in forty-five minutes."

INSERT LINE

Reid didn't know what to make of these people. The woman appeared nice enough, but she had a steel edge, he could see. The man gave him the shivers, but most men did that nowadays. He turned his attention towards the woman, who started to explain the case to him.

"Alright. We have twenty-six body's, ten female, sixteen male. Victimology appears all over the place. The length between the murders is around the same time with every kill. Cause of death is blood loss after stabbing. The attacks appear to be blitz attacks. The number of stab wounds increases varies every time, with the most being 89, which has happened twice, on the eleventh and twenty-second kill respectively. The first, second, twelfth, thirteenth, twenty-third and twenty-fourth victim were each stabbed only once. The UnSub doesn't appear to care whether or not the victims are alive, the number appears to be important for him." Seeing as Reid raised his hand, Emily stopped. "Yes, what is it?"

"Ma'am, is the number of stab wounds a repetitive cycle that repeats after each eleventh kill?" Reid asked hestitantly.

Emily nodded, wondering how he knew that. "That's true, how do you know that?"

Reid took a deep breath before starting. "The Fibonacci numbers are a series of numbers with each following number being the sum of the previous two. Eighty-nine is the eleventh number of the sequence when using the Pascal's Triangle-method, which is different from the algebra-method in that it doesn't count the zero as the first number. The first eleven numbers would be one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one, thirty-four, fifty-five and eighty-nine, which I suspect to be consistent with the number of stab wounds. He might repeat the cycle after the eleventh kill because the number eleven means something to him, or because the number hundred, which is the sum of eleven and eighty-nine, means something to him, other than it being the first positive triple-digit number in the sequence of the natural numbers.."

"Whoa, stop," Emily interrupted, shocked. "Can you write that down? Including any other theories you might have?"

"Yes, ma'am," Reid answered.

When Hotch entered half an hour later, Reid was writing his thirteenth page.

"Mr.-" Hotch started, but was interrupted by Reid, who jumped and immediately winced.

"130946 Reid, Sir!" Reid said.

Hotch extended his hand in greeting. Reid didn't appear to know what to do with it, apart from flinching when it was first extended, but after a few seconds he shook it. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief. Are you injured, Mr. Reid?"

"Yes, sir," Reid answered, appearing unconcerned. "According to the guidelines of CPF-13,I am sufficiently injured to be allowed off the premises. You are, of course, free to extend my injuries."

This rattled Hotch, who, perhaps for the first time in his life, had no idea what to say. Prentiss had no such problems. "WHAT?"

Reid, taking this literary, started reciting the part of the guidelines saying he had to be injured. This only served to rattle both Hotch and Prentiss further.

When Hotch regained his composure and asked Reid if he wanted a painkiller, Reid said that yes, he wanted one, but he wasn't allowed medicines when not on the premises of CPF-13.

"I'm sorry for your injuries, Mr. Reid. I was not aware of the existence of such guidelines. Are you aware of any loopholes allowing your bones to be set or your pain to be lessened?"

"No, sir, sorry, sir," Reid answered.

Hotch nodded, realizing that it wasn't nice, but they had a body count. "Prentiss, have you finished briefing Mr. Reid?"

Prentiss shook her head. "I had just told him the basics when he came up with a theory regarding the number of stab wounds, something about Fibonacci numbers. He was working out the theory on paper when you arrived. I asked him to include any theories he had based on that."

Hotch nodded. "Alright. Mr. Reid, please try to finish your theories within the next two pages. Prentiss, finish the briefing afterwards, then summarize Mr. Reid's works to share with the team. Feel free to share anything Garcia can work with, with her before that. Call me when you're ready for a team meeting," Hotch finished.


	7. Gambling in Vegas

**Takes place in season 7, between 7x02 and 7x09.**

The case was a bad one. Eight people had been killed so far. All had evidently been to a casino, judging by things found on the bodies (although all money had been taken). Given that it was in Las Vegas, a casino didn't really narrow it down either. Nevertheless, they had received security footage from the casinos. Face recognition software didn't get them anywhere, though. Either the victims had been in a casino without said software, or there was something else. They had spread photographs of the victims in the casinos that fell within the boundaries of Reid's geographical profile: nothing.

Spencer Reid sighed. He really didn't want to do this.

"Hotch?" Aaron Hotchner looked at Reid, giving him his full attention. "Can we talk privately?"

Hotch frowned, but nodded and gestured for Reid to follow him out of the room.

"What is it?" Hotch asked somewhat concerned. Reid rarely suggested they talk privately.

Reid hesitated. "I think the victims went to illegal casinos. And I'd like money and permission to do a sweep of them."

Hotch's brows furrowed. "Is there a large illegal gambling culture?" At Reid's nod, he continued. "Why won't we just barge in?"

Reid nearly grinned. "Because if you go to an illegal casino in Vegas without legal coverage, you're stupid." At Hotch's confused look, Reid elaborated. "This is Nevada. There are a lot of loopholes here in the laws concerning gambling. Just about everyone in the business knows those loopholes. You won't be able to threaten them with charges. They will either tell you exactly why you can't charge them, or they will exercise their right to remain silent. Because of said loopholes, you would need testimonial evidence to get charges, and by keeping quiet, they won't give you that. You can arrest all patrons of illegal casinos, but there are not enough cells in Nevada to hold all of them."

Hotch gave Reid a surprised look. "And you know where to find those casinos?"

Reid hesitated. "I would be able to find out with minimal fuss."

Recognizing the slight evasion, Hotch gave an acknowledging nod. "There is no way I'm sending you in alone."

Reid nodded. "What's your plan, then?" Reid said it almost challenging, as if he didn't think Hotch would be able to come up with something better.

Hotch frowned again. "What makes you so sure there is no better plan?"

Reid gave Hotch an assessing look. "You need someone who is good at poker, who knows the protocol in those casinos, who can blend in and who is trusted."

Hotch gave Reid a look. "You are all of those things." It wasn't a question, but it wasn't a statement either.

Reid gave Hotch a look as though willing Hotch to understand something. "SAC Hotchner, why would you say that?"

Hotch nodded, recognizing the answer for the evasion it was, and noticing the emphasis Reid placed on his title.

"Will you be safe?" Hotch asked, clearly considering the option of sending Reid.

Reid nodded. "Can we talk somewhere where I won't have to call you 'sir'?"

INSERT LINE

They ended up in a coffee house down the street.

"I started when I was ten, after my father left," Reid spoke. "I started with gambling on street corners and in café's, basically, and one man sort of helped me along – he pointed me to places with higher bets, things like that. I used it to help make ends meet. When I was twelve, I was introduced in the "real" world, where bigger money was made."

"Just how much are we talking about here?" Hotch asked Reid, wondering.

Reid shrugged. "At the street corners, I didn't usually make more than fifty dollars for an evening. Café's would go up to two hundred dollars. And in the "real" places, you can make up to ten thousand in tournaments if you're lucky. Two thousand on a usual night."

Hotch's eyes widened. "That much? And you weren't robbed or mobbed?"

Reid looked at Hotch incredulously. "Have you ever been to the Stratosphere? You make a lot more money there. But the guy who introduced me, so to speak, arranged some sort of security detail for me." Reid shrugged. "I would give them a part of my winnings."

Hotch's mouth didn't fall open, but it was a near thing. "You were twelve!"

Reid glared at Hotch, now somewhat angry. "Yes, we've already established that. How did you think I made ends meet when I was caring for my mother?"

"Yes, of course. My apologies," Hotch composed himself.

Evidently accepting the apology, Reid continued. "My plan is as follows: I dress in proper attire. I wear a wire so you don't worry too much. I want Dave on the other end of that wire, by the way."

Hotch was surprised. "Why Dave?"

Reid shrugged. "Dave knows these circles. Remember Long Island? The case where a judge was hiring someone to kill wrongdoers? I'd prefer if you'd stay in the vicinity, because you have a knack for knowing when to take me seriously and when I'm trying to relay a coded message, but you don't have to."

Hotch nodded. "I shouldn't be surprised you picked up on that. What do you mean by proper attire?"

"Clothes," Reid shrugged. "I'm pretty lucky with my revolver, because entering an illegal place wearing a Glock is just screaming that you're a cop. That also goes for looking too innocent."

Reid cast a bemused glance at Hotch. "You've never really navigated those circles, have you?"

"No," Hotch admitted. Sometimes they really forgot Reid grew up in Vegas.

"Alright. The wire should be microphone-only, because going in wearing an earpiece is plain stupid." Reid thought for a moment. "I do need to see every victim's toxscreen, by the way. Not all places allow alcohol."

Hotch nodded. "I'll make sure you have them. When do you want to do this?"

Reid was silent for a few seconds. "Tomorrow night and every night after, I think. If you can get me what I need in time. That includes money."

Hotch sighed. "I'll find a way to justify poker chips to the budget oversight committee. How much do you need?"

Reid didn't hesitate. "Six thousand cash. Improbable I'll need even half that, but it should be enough to lose spectacularly two nights in a row. Not that I plan on losing. But I might walk into a tournament, and you have to pay to enter those."

"Strauss is going to have a fit." Hotch concluded.

"Please manage to convince her you're only sending me in because I'm the best poker player, and not because I managed to break B-laws in Vegas before I reached my majority."

"B-laws?" Hotch asked confused.

"Laws about booze, boobs and blackjack," Reid shrugged. "It refers to the lack of these laws in Vegas. B-laws is what Ginder always called them. Ginder was the guy who introduced me. Don't tell Strauss I am the one who told you where to find the casinos."

Hotch sighed again. "I don't like this."

Reid smirked. "I do!"

INSERT LINE

When Hotch walked to Dave and motioned for him to come, Dave wondered what was up. Hotch said something about a super-secret plan no one was to know about – well, he phrased it differently, but that was the spirit – and that had Dave intrigued. Even more so because, well.. Reid was in on it.

"Reid, you explain it to him." Hotch looked weary.

"Okay, " Reid nodded, apparently somewhat exited. "I need your help in breaking B-laws, making money and catching killers. Interested?"

"Perfect way to spend the evening," Dave quipped. "What's going on?"

Hotch was a little dismayed to find that Dave did know what "B-laws" were.

"I'm going to – investigate – some casino's that don't legally exist, and I need your help getting ready. And I need you on the other end of my wire once I'm there." Reid spoke, a little more serious.

Dave's eyebrows rose. "You're going to walk in there alone."

Reid shrugged. "I've been doing it since I was ten – well, twelve for the hard places – so that shouldn't be a problem. I think you'd best understand the protocol of meetings with old friends, though."

Dave nodded. "True."

"I'm hoping to get six thousand cash, not that I plan on spending that much, but I want to have enough to lose spectacularly for two nights. If I save a thousand, I can always hit a regular casino during the day."

"Just how good are you?" Hotch interrupted.

"I have to pay sixty thousand a year for Bennington," Reid said. "No way our paycheck covers that."

"Sixty thousand?" Hotch's mouth fell open. "I didn't know that."

Reid gave a small smile. "It's the best sanitarium in Nevada. So every year on my annual leave, I fly to Vegas, visit my mom, and hit the casinos. I can make more money with Blackjack than with poker, but there's no quicker way to get banned than to win at Blackjack, because then you're only losing the casino money, whereas with poker you're mostly robbing people."

Dave gave a small grin. "So, what do you need?" He was evidently enjoying this task.

INSERT LINE

"Where are Dave and Reid?" Morgan asked Hotch.

Hotch looked up from what he was doing and sighed wearily. "Reid is going to the casinos and Dave is helping him to get ready." At seeing their confused looks, Hotch elaborated. "We're pretty sure they didn't go to legal casinos, so we're trying the illegal ones."

"Just the two of them?" Prentiss asked. "I can play poker."

"Reid grew up in Vegas, and Dave on Rhode Island. Reid knows the people, Dave knows the culture. Prentiss, how often have you been to semi-legal or illegal casinos? I mean big money places, not the usual cafés."

Prentiss considered that for a moment. "What's considered big money?"

Hotch shrugged. "My source says that in illegal places, you don't make more than two thousand an evening unless there is a tournament. Because they cater to a smaller group of people, people know each other's styles and are more likely to fold on a bad night. In a formal casino, you're always playing against new faces. Therefore two thousand is called big money. Reid asked me to get him six thousand, and I'm still negotiating with Strauss."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Seriously. Six thousand?"

Just as Hotch was about to answer, the door opened and Reid walked in.

"So, what do you think?" Reid asked a little nervously.

Prentiss stared at Reid. "You look really different."

"You're looking hard-ass!" Morgan fell in.

Reid shrugged. "That's what we were going for, so it's alright, then."

He then turned to Hotch. "Can you justify another eight hundred dollars? Dave refused to pay attention to the price tags."

Hotch stared at Dave. "You can deal with Strauss," he said.

"Seriously, what's going on?" Morgan asked.

"I went shopping to look a little less vulnerable, but still non-threatening." Reid was silent for a moment. "If you look threatening, you're not getting inside. If you look vulnerable, you're getting robbed or mobbed."

It was silent for a few moments. Then Reid turned to Hotch. "How much money can you get?"

Hotch sighed. "Chief Strauss doesn't approve of this. She wants to know who my source is."

Reid nodded. "And if you only ask for, say, two thousand? If I start tonight in a formal establishment, I should have six by tomorrow. I would still like a wire for tomorrow, though. I don't usually go in by myself. And I want to avoid what happened with Bryar in Texas – Gideon decided it was taking too long so he sent in the HRT. That would have gone wrong if that minister hadn't shot Bryar."

"You're going in by yourself? I thought Rossi was going with you," Prentiss spoke.

"No, why should he do that?" Reid asked.

"Because there's no way you're going in alone!" Morgan replied vehemently.

Reid sighed. "Morgan, I know those people. You don't. Even if I don't know the people, I do know the culture. Say, if they pin me to the wall, what would you do if you were there with me?"

"Pull them off you, of course," Morgan said immediately. "What do you mean, you know these people?"

Dave and Reid exchanged an amused glance. "Then you'd be lucky if you get out severely beaten up, and not in a body bag," Dave spoke. "And Reid grew up in Vegas."

"How do you think I paid the bills when I was ten?" Reid asked Morgan, then turned to Hotch. "We've established a code, with words for "I'm safe", "Get me out", "I'm leaving, pick me up" and case-concerning words." Reid shrugged. "Code is established both in words and in taps, because there's not usually much talking done. We also need another car, because if I'm seen being picked up by a black SUV, I'm never going to get into another place."

Hotch nodded. "Good job. I'll try if I can get you two thousand, at least. Do you have your stun gun?"

Reid nodded. "Modified and all. Do you have the toxscreens? Then I can pick where to go."

"So what's the plan, then?" Prentiss spoke. "I mean, Reid is going in alone, but what will we do?"

"Reid?" Hotch spoke, evidently expecting Reid to give instructions.

"Hmm? Oh, Dave is on the other end of my wire, Hotch is in his vicinity of him."

"Why both?" Morgan wondered.

Reid shrugged. "Rossi knows the culture, and Hotch knows when I'm relaying a message."

"What do you mean?" Prentiss asked.

Reid gave her a look. "Remember Georgia? All of you thought I was out of my mind. Hotch checked the validity of both my claims –" Here Reid grinned slightly, no doubt referring to the claim that Hotch was a classic narcissist – "and discovered I was telling you where I was."

He went back to the toxscreen. "If something goes wrong, Prentiss should enter, I think. Though that depends.."

Reid looked at Prentiss. "How good are you with revolvers, or at least, non-Glocks?"

Prentiss shrugged. "If necessary, I can use them."

Reid nodded. "Okay. No one wears a Glock, except for police and those who never use them. You don't want them to know you're law enforcement, and you don't want them to think it's just for show, either. So you need a revolver – a used one. Your holster should also be used. You don't want them to think it's the first time you're wearing a gun. But you shouldn't look too comfortable with it, either."

Prentiss listened attentively. "Okay."

"I'm going to this place first, I think," Reid pointed to the map. "You should park here – just around the corner." He pointed to another place. "If something goes wrong, enter. Look confident, flirt a little, and don't pay much attention to me. Be the mean girl."

Hotch spoke. "Reid, Strauss has agreed to allow you two thousand dollar. If you lose all of it and the plan doesn't work, there will be an investigation."

Reid nodded. "And if I multiply the amount?"

Hotch looked thrown aback. "Then you can help me with the paperwork."

INSERT LINE

That night, Reid returned at one o'clock at the hotel – he had been playing poker and a few games of Blackjack in a legal casino. Dave was waiting for him.

"Well, how did it go?" He asked gruffly.

Reid shrugged. "A lot better than expected. Do you think I can arrange with Strauss to give her back her two thousand dollars, and keep everything else?"

"Just how much did you win?" Dave asked a little more awake now.

Reid smiled. "Not that much. And I managed to stay under the radar, so that's good enough. I only got free drinks, no suites or something."

"You get suites as a comp?" Dave asked incredulously. "How much did you win today exactly?"

Reid smiled. "Constant refills of coffee – really good coffee – and a little over ten thousand dollar. Well, after the taxes cut their part, of course."

"Ten thousand," Dave repeated faintly.

Reid shrugged. "Far from my best night. I'm going to get some rest." He looked around and his eyes fell on the gun safe. "That's one lucky thing about when the Bureau arranges hotels – there's always a safe for your money." He smiled.

INSERT LINE

The first night went alright. True to what he said earlier, he only made about a thousand dollars. "Staying under the radar," Reid said.

The second night was a little better, with Reid making twelve hundred dollars. The third night, things went a little different. He made two thousand dollars.

"I ran into an old friend," Reid shrugged. "Hotch, I'm going out with him sometime this week."

"Why?" Hotch frowned. "We have a case."

Reid frowned back. "Hotch, I could have used a lot of money for a bribe. Now I just offered to go out with him, meaning he'll take most of my earnings. What would the Bureau prefer?"

"True," Hotch acknowledged. "But you're helping me with the paperwork."

Reid gave a small smile. "Meditative," he said. "It's also the reason I made two thousand today, actually. I had to prove I hadn't lost my touch. But he also knows I never make more than two thousand – staying under the radar, and all that.

The next night, Dave went in with Reid. "Your job is to stand behind me and look menacing. I've never been here before, but everyone here is rich and should have a criminal record. You're my bodyguard. Alright?"

And indeed, the place was creepy. Rossi noted Reid didn't investigate at all, he just tried to make friends, basically. He also made five thousand dollars.

Hotch raised an eyebrow when they were back. "I thought you were staying under the radar," he commented.

Dave snorted. "In this place, this is 'under the radar'."

Reid agreed. "There was a lot of money going on there. You might want to drop the address to Metro PD and tell them to send SWAT there once all this is over. But I want to make some friends there first."

They continued gambling for a few days, but now they usually it two places a night: before midnight they would go to one of the places where Reid had come as a teenager. Dave would be on the other side of the wire. Then, around midnight, Dave and Reid would enter that one place together – Dave standing behind Reid and looking menacing, Reid making money.

"I'm going out with Max early this evening," Reid said. "I'm going wired, just to be sure, but I'm going to pay my bribe, not to investigate."

Hotch nodded. "Okay. You're going with Dave, afterwards?"

"I am. I want the whole place under surveillance, starting this afternoon, but for no reason they should go in. I know something is going to happen – if not today, then tomorrow. And I wouldn't be surprised if Max knows it, too, and is trying to keep me away from that place. I want Dave nearby when I'm with Max, but he doesn't have to be in the room. Near the casino is good enough."

They discussed details for a few moments before focusing on the case once more.

INSERT LINE

They were right – Max had tried to keep Reid the whole night, but was reasonably understanding when Reid said he was going to the other place anyway. He was a little less understanding when he was arrested, but Reid knew JJ would explain to Max that it was just to keep Max away from anything dangerous, basically. Reid just hoped he wouldn't lose a friend over this.

When Reid entered the illegal casino at midnight, it was more crowded than usual. They kept up their usual routine – Rossi looking menacing and Reid winning money. Around three, the atmosphere changed. Reid send Prentiss and Hotch a message. Reid had explicitly forbidden Prentiss from entering, because she'd need a bodyguard. When she protested, Reid had said quite adamantly that everyone who entered this place had a bodyguard, and that Reid was no different.

Morgan had volunteered, of course, but Reid had vetoed that. That was something Reid had insisted on before starting his assignment – veto power over every single thing. In essence, Hotch could veto the entire mission, but Reid could veto every tiny detail.

At three thirty, when the tension seemed to be about to reach a climax Rossi and Reid went for the restroom, with Rossi standing guard before the door. Reid assured Rossi this was normal and wouldn't attract attention.

At three thirty-five, just as they were leaving the restroom, there was a gunshot. That was MO – the victim would be shot in the foot first.

Rossi and Reid were in a perfect position to move to the entrance of the building, which they opened so SWAT could enter. After a brief shoot-out, in which Reid's shoulder was grazed but no one of the 'good guys' was seriously hurt or killed, they rounded up all of the patrons and saved the victim, who was also a patron.

"I really need a good night's sleep," Reid yawned. "But I probably should talk to Max first."

"No doubt he'll appreciate your concern," Rossi said dryly.

As it turned out, Max did understand why Reid had arrested him. It might have helped that it was written all over Reid's face that he was feeling guilty about the whole debacle.

"But you caught 'em?" Max asked finally.

"We did," Reid said tiredly. "Rounded up the whole place, actually. Most of them are probably wanted criminals anyway."

"You got that right," Max snorted. "So, can I go?"

Reid nodded. "Of course. Here," he handed Max his business card. "If you ever need someone to bail you out.." he said with a small grin.

Max smiled. "Good luck, kiddo."

"Thanks for everything, Max," Reid said with a smile.

INSERT LINE

"Reid? We have to report to Strauss as soon as we get back." Hotch looked truly apprehensive.

Reid closed his eyes in resignation. "Is she going to fire me because I tripled the Bureau's budget?"

"How much did you win, actually?" JJ asked. "I mean, you didn't win that much, did you?"

Reid did the mental math. "Uh.. I won a little over seventy six thousand dollars excluding what I won for Max. Hotch, can you please smooth that over with the IRS?"

Hotch actually blinked. "Shit," he cursed softly. "I hadn't thought of that."

Everyone on the plane looked at Reid. "Reid, you made seventy six thousand dollar in a week by gambling," Morgan said incredulously.

Reid shrugged. "I suppose. I could have made more, but I was trying to stay under the radar."

"I think he's referring to the fact that you nearly won a year's salary within a week," Prentiss said.

Reid blinked. "I did, didn't I?"

"What the hell are you doing working for a government office?" Morgan asked. "You could be a millionaire!"

Reid looked guilty. Hotch decided to interfere. "Let's not interrogate Reid on his job choices," he said. "Reid, have you finished your reports? Strauss might appreciate that."

Reid nodded. "Almost," he said. "What does Strauss want, exactly?"

Hotch and Reid were soon talking about strategies on how to proceed with Strauss. The team stopped trying to listen and engaged in their own conversations.

As Hotch and Reid were finished discussing Strauss, Hotch could see there was still something Reid wanted to say. "Thanks for interfering," he said.

Hotch shrugged. "Your life is your life, although I do admit I was curious as to what your answer would be."

Reid gave a small smile. "You haven't done the math, have you?"

Hotch looked questioningly at Reid. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Reid said innocently. Hotch vowed to find out what, exactly, Reid was hiding.

INSERT LINE

"So. Dr. Reid, how much money did you lose the Bureau?"

"None, ma'am," Reid said truthfully.

"How much money did you win the Bureau, then?" Strauss didn't like this, that was apparent.

"Seventy six thousand four hundred twenty four, ma'am," Reid replied – again, truthfully.

"Excuse me, Dr. Reid? This is not the time for jokes."

Reid opened a briefcase he had next to him. "It's all in here, ma'am."

"You're expecting me to believe that you won a year's salary in a week?"

"Yes, ma'am," Reid said, now amused.

"Dr. Reid, if this is true, then why don't you have more money?"

"I have quite a bit of money, ma'am, but most of it is in trust funds," Reid replied.

Strauss raised an eyebrow, apparently she wanted to know how much. Hotch was amused – he stood to the side, ignored by both parties.

"How much money do you have, Dr. Reid?"

"Liquid, stocks or real estate?" Reid asked seriously.

Hotch was shocked. Real estate?

"Liquid," Strauss said somewhat annoyed.

"About five point six million, three of which is in a trust fund for my mother's care."

Hotch nearly toppled over. Reid was a multi-millionaire?

Strauss was actually speechless and quickly sat down. "Dr. Reid. You have five point six million dollar in liquid money?"

"Yes, ma'am," Reid replied sincerely.

"And where is the rest of that money?" Curiosity won over, apparently.

Reid wrote something on a slip of paper and handed it to Strauss. Hotch was immensely curious what was on it, but couldn't see it. Strauss read the slip of paper and looked at Hotch, amused, then turned to Reid again. "Good job, Agent Reid," she said. "Agent Hotchner, I assume you will smooth this over with the IRS and you will complete all additional paperwork."

"Yes, ma'am," Hotch said, wondering what had turned Strauss' mood. "Dr. Reid has kindly offered his assistance, so it should be completed within a day or so."

"Good," Strauss said, still amused. "Good luck, Agent," she said to Reid specifically.

Bewildered, Hotch left the office, Reid following in his wake.

"What was that about?" Hotch asked Reid once they were in Hotch's office. "You wrote something on a scrap of paper and we're out in thirty seconds."

Reid sighed. "I wrote something down because I didn't want you to know about it."

"Reid," Hotch said with a warning clear in his voice.

"No, Hotch," Reid held firm. "I will tell you some day, and that day is not now."

"Okay," Hotch sighed. "Help me with this pile of paperwork, then."

INSERT LINE

Strauss looked down at the piece of paper Reid had handed her. A small smile curved her lips. She had always liked Dr. Reid – they got along reasonably well – and this was just brilliant.

The piece of paper said: _Hotch doesn't know about the college fund I set up for his son. I'd like to keep it that way – I have no doubt I'm in for a lecture once he finds out. Also, Elle Greenaway was mysteriously served with the deeds of a house after she resigned. I'm glad she liked the furniture I picked out._

Yes, she got along well with Dr. Reid. Both had a similar style of humor and really.. this was just too good.

She smiled as she burned the paper. She would keep another of Reid's secrets, just as he kept hers. Because she was well aware who was dropping her the anonymous notes, urging her to seek help for her addiction.

Perhaps she would.


	8. Killing Reid's Social Workers

"We have a case," Hotch said quietly to his team.

"I didn't get anything," JJ spoke. "They came directly to you?"

Hotch nodded. "Yes. They have Marshals on it now, but everyone that touches the case is a potential target. Wheels up in twenty. Garcia is coming with us."

On the jet, Hotch explained the case. "Spencer Reid, twelve, lives with Diana Reid, his mother in Las Vegas. William Reid, his father, left about two years ago and hasn't spoken to his family since, although they are not formally divorced. Diana Reid has paranoid schizophrenia. Spencer Reid is apparently a genius. All social workers involved with the case are dead."

"What do you mean, dead?" Dave fell in.

"They were found dead between the making of an appointment and the appointment itself. We won't be working with locals because we know there's an inside man. Even when CPS intended to show up without announcement and wrote that on a paper calendar, the social worker died. I believe the detectives and police officers on the case are from New Orleans, the Marshals from Seattle and the SWAT on stand-by is from Florida. The psychiatrist and nurses attending to Mrs. Reid are from Wisconsin, and none of them have ever been in Vegas before."

"Shit," Morgan sighed. "MO?"

"Rat poison, .357 Magnum, stabbing and the Magnum thrice again." Hotch sighed. "Six murders. We need to hit the ground running. We don't know who will be next and no one is to go anywhere without protection. Everyone wears bullet-proof vests regardless of where we are. Our first job is identifying whether it's CPS that is a target, or all government officials working the case."

Prentiss spoke up. "Who does what?"

Hotch sighed. "Garcia, I want you to stay with Spencer Reid. Make him comfortable, see what he knows. People like you. Just a warning – he's smart and doesn't like being treated as a kid. Don't try baby-talk."

Amused snorts were heard all-over, because they were all familiar with Garcia.

"JJ – monitor and contain the media. Make sure the kid doesn't get painted as the villain."

"Has he been ruled out yet?" Rossi asked.

Hotch sighed. "He has a confirmed alibi for one of the murders, but the confirmation is foggy at best. A blonde child was seen in the library around the time of the third murder. Given that he was in study section, it's likely it was him. Regardless no one is to be alone with him and he is not allowed near knives etcetera."

"Dave, Prentiss, Morgan and I work on the profile. Morgan and Dave, you two will go and talk to the father. Prentiss and I talk to Spencer. Garcia," Hotch looked at the tech analyst. "I want to make it clear that I'm not asking you to interrogate him. If he doesn't want to talk, he doesn't have to. Prentiss and I will be less accommodating." Hotch sighed again. "Father, mother and child are being kept separately for now. This will continue until we know more. We wait on the psychiatrist's call before someone goes to speak with Mrs. Reid, who at the moment believes she has been kidnapped by government officials."

Dave snorted. "Not that far off."

Hotch sighed. "Not to her. If someone goes to talk to her, it will likely be JJ and Prentiss wearing civilian clothes – with a bulletproof vest underneath."

After discussing ideas for another half an hour, Hotch called everyone to order. "Get some rest. We'll be lucky if we get any before this case is solved."

INSERT LINE

They arrived at a military airport, where they were directed to a helicopter which would bring them to the command center. It was originally a safe house, but now served a dual purpose: both as a safe house and as a command center.

They entered the safe house through the roof. Hotch was oddly reminded of the time when they had been to the CIA Headquarters with all the security going on. Hotch made short introductions to the Marshal in charge, Marshal Flint, and then told him what the team needed: William Reid (Dave and Morgan), a workspace with internet, TV, radio and phone (JJ), Spencer Reid and a place to set up her technical things (Garcia), and a briefing of the situation (Prentiss and Hotch).

After everyone was escorted to where they needed to be, Marshal Flint gave Hotch and Prentiss an extensive briefing.

"That's about it. We don't know if the Reids are a random target – an entry point, so to speak – which means they will probably move to other social workers once all the Reids's caseworkers have been eliminated."

Hotch nodded. "Can we talk to Spencer?"

INSERT LINE

"Hi!" Garcia said in her usual way – bubbly and brightly. "I'm Penelope Garcia and I was told to set up in here?" She showed her credentials.

The Marshal just inside the door nodded. "So I was told. I'm Deputy Marshal Michel." He moved inside and held the door open. "Spencer Reid, this is Penelope Garcia. Penelope Garcia, this is Spencer Reid."

A young boy wearing a too-large bulletproof vest looked up from the table he was sitting at. "Hi," he said quietly and watched as she put her bags on a table.

Her hands free, she moved to the table Spencer was sitting at. "I'm Penelope Garcia, what do you want me to call you?"

Spencer shrugged. "Don't call me Mr. Reid," he said. "Otherwise I have no real preference. Are you one of the FBI people?"

Garcia nodded. "Yes, I'm Miss Bright And Beautiful, and I'm a technical analyst for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Heard of that?"

Spencer nodded. "Yes, it started as the BSU in 1974. The BSU split into a BSU and a BSISU in 1984 and became the BAU in 1997. After 9/11 there was a need for reorganization due to the realization that we were not adequately equipped to handle such attacks, and thus the BAU split into three units. Nowadays ViCAP is also a unit. The BAU is part of the NCAVC and its headquarters are located in Quantico, Virginia."

Garcia blinked. "You know? I didn't know that. I was already told you were smart, but you really know a lot. Do you like learning?"

The boy nodded. "I like challenges."

"Do you know code? Because I can teach you if you want me to."

Spencer gave a small smile. "I'm not good with computers, but I'd like to learn, yes."

Just as Garcia had everything plugged in, the door opened and Hotch and Prentiss entered.

"Garcia? You're needed downstairs." Hotch said with a guarded look and conveying a message with his eyes. Hotch was secretly amused, seeing a small boy and Penelope Garcia sitting side-by-side staring intently at a computer screen.

Garcia nodded. "Of course, sir," and she left the room.

"Hi," Prentiss said as she approached Spencer. "I'm Emily Prentiss and this is Aaron Hotchner. You can call me Emily if you want. Can we ask you some questions?"

Spencer nodded. "I thought you were here for that. Are you also from the FBI?"

Prentiss smiled. "Yes, I am. I work with Penelope Garcia, she was here before."

"She was going to teach me code," Spencer commented.

Hotch gave a small smile. "Lucky you. She's good." Hotch had allowed his stoic expression to disappear, as he always did when interviewing children.

"Am I supposed to invite you to sit? This is Federal property, and as such it's under your jurisdiction. So I can't really invite you."

Hotch supposed that comment made sense, in a way.. just not from a twelve-year-old.

"We can just all agree to sit down, so we don't have to argue about who invites who?" Prentiss smiled.

Spencer nodded. "Alright."

They sat down in a triangle, so that everyone could look at everyone. "Can we call you Spencer?" Prentiss asked.

"That's what most people call me," Spencer said.

"Spencer, do you know what's going on?" Usual approach – Hotch asked factual and established a background, Emily asked more personal.

Spencer looked thoughtful. "Something bad. I'm not allowed to see my mom, there are Marshals here, and you're from a specialists unit from the FBI. Because three of my CPS caseworkers died, I presume it has something to do with that. They won't really tell me, which I find annoying, because I really want to see my mom." He looked at Hotch and Prentiss. "Can I?"

"Not right now," Prentiss said softly. "She is having a difficult time."

Spencer gave her a look that was nearly incredulous. "You mean she's having an episode. You decided to counter said episode by placing her into an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar people and told her to calm down? Did you even explain what was going on? Because it's likely you're just playing into her delusion."

Hotch frowned a little. Maybe it hadn't been the best approach. "I'll talk with the doctor that's with her to see if you can see her."

Spencer made an acknowledging noise. "I can usually calm her down. How bad is it?"

"I'm not sure," Prentiss replied. "How so?"

"Just wondering how long it'll take before she stops being afraid after this one," Spencer said softly. "Can I talk with the doctor, at least? I hope it's a psychiatrist?"

"It's a psychiatrist," Hotch confirmed. "I'll see what I can do." He was silent for a few moments. "You were right, though – we are here about those caseworkers." He observed Spencer's reaction.

Spencer's eyebrow twitched, and his expression became concerned. "Did they actually stop sending people or did they stop making appointments?"

"What do you mean?" Prentiss asked.

Spencer shrugged. "I know CPS sends people without appointments sometimes, especially in suspected abuse cases. If caseworkers keep dying after making an appointment, it stands to reason you stop making appointments, but CPS isn't allowed to drop a case, so it also stands to reason they continue sending people unexpectedly."

Hotch gave an assessing look at Spencer. "You are right."

"Are you here because you think I did it, or are you here to find out what I know?" Spencer looked mostly curious.

"We don't think you did it," Prentiss said quickly.

Spencer shrugged. "You're not ruling out the possibility. But you're not actively suspecting me either, I think."

"What makes you say that?" Hotch asked, not denying the statement.

Spencer looked at Hotch, although he didn't look him in the eye. Hotch realized Spencer never looked Hotch in the eye. Spencer looked almost ashamed, it appeared, although not guilty. "I'm not allowed to be alone, and unless Marshal Flint is in here, there are always two people with me. Marshal Flint isn't being the "let's play a game together" friendly you'd expect a law enforcement officer to be to a child." Spencer looked at Marshal Flint, who was still standing by the door and listening attentively to the conversation. "That wasn't an insult, by the way. You're polite and you are friendly, just not the way people usually are to children. You make it clear you don't want to have a conversation or play a game, and that's just about the standard response an adult has when alone in a room with a child."

Marshal Flint gave a small smile. "You're correct."

Spencer nodded and turned to Hotch again. "I'm not allowed to use a sharp knife when eating and the cups in which I get my drinks are Styrofoam. And given the fact that people never know what to do with me, it would be logical you would consider me as a suspect."

Hotch nodded, again not denying anything. "Why did CPS see reason to pay you a visit?"

Spencer frowned. "Can I pass questions? I'll answer this one, but just for future reference."

Hotch took care not to show a frown on his face. "Preferably not, but it's better not to answer than to lie."

"I'm often bruised, my father isn't around, and my mother shouts sometimes. I always do the shopping and my mother never leaves the house." Spencer was silent for a moment. "That would explain the persistence. Otherwise it might have something to do with my application to Caltech, because all undergraduate students stay on campus."

Hotch was impressed by the list, most children were not as complete. He could also understand Spencer's earlier question about being allowed to decline answering questions.

"You're young, for a college student to be," Prentiss said.

Spencer sighed. "Look, I really want to see my mom, so can't we just talk about things that are not already in my file?" Spencer flushed. "Sorry."

"You're not being unreasonable," Hotch spoke mildly.

Spencer gave a small smile. "Neither are you. Most adults would blither on about being respectful." He sighed. "Next question?"

"Do you want something to eat or to drink?" Prentiss spoke before Hotch could open his mouth.

"Coffee with a lot of sugar, please." Reid gave a small smile. "I'm craving caffeine."

Prentiss nodded and turned to the Marshal. "Where can I find coffee? And do you want some?"

The Marshal gave a small smile and gave Prentiss instructions.

Once Prentiss had left, Hotch spoke again. "Do you want to wait for her return?"

"Not necessary," Spencer replied.

"Okay. Why are you often bruised?" Not beating around the bush seemed to work so far.

Spencer winced. "I'll give you a partial answer, which is a full truth." He waited for Hotch's nod. "Diana Reid's body has never bodily harmed Spencer Reid." He frowned a little. "That sounds really wrong. But if I say it differently, you will think I'm either rationalizing abusive behavior because she wouldn't have meant to hurt _me_, just the person she may have seen me as, or you'll think I'm rationalizing abusive behavior because she wasn't herself."

Hotch nodded. "Okay." He was about to ask more when Spencer spoke again.

"I'm willing to repeat that under oath, by the way. I'd also like to point out that I usually came home injured. Next question."

Spencer was implying the injuring didn't happen at home, and he had previously stated his mother never left the house. Bullying, perhaps? It would make sense.

"Are you bullied?" Bluntness really seemed to work best.

"Yes. I'm not elaborating. Next?" Spencer's movements were a little jerkily, and Hotch noticed Reid wasn't looking at Hotch – rather he was looking far away.

Prentiss re-entered the room with cups – Styrofoam again, Hotch noticed – and two large flask. "Coffee," she said a little cheerily. "I missed that stuff."

Spencer gave an amused snort. "So did I. Have you ever studied engineering?"

"No, why?" Prentiss asked absently as she was filling cups with coffee.

"It's just amusing to see vacuum flasks together with Styrofoam cups. It's really easy to make vacuum flasks implode." At Hotch's warning look, Spencer elaborated. "Not like that – at the very least you would need a source of heath and a source of cold, and even then it's doubtful you would actually succeed. If you already have an explosion, though, they implode really easily. This one is metal, though, so that makes it a lot more difficult. It would be impossible to do it here, if you're worried."

Marshal Flint snorted. "I'll keep an eye out regardless."

Spencer nodded amiably. "You get the flasks, I get the coffee?"

Marshal Flint laughed. "No way, kid."

Hotch smiled, thankful for the levity. He had no doubt that was Marshal Flint's goal when he decided to start joking.

"When did your father leave?" Prentiss asked conversationally.

"Two years ago," Spencer said. "He said he couldn't deal with my mother."

"You don't believe him," Hotch stated.

"No, of course not," Spencer replied matter-of-factly. "Mom begged him to take me with him, but he didn't and I have not heard from him since. If just mom was the problem, he would have kept contact or taken me with him." Spencer was silent for a few moments. "Not that I mind, though. I like Mom."

"You said she shouted a lot – does she shout at you or does she shout in general?" Prentiss asked.

Spencer's brow furrowed. "She always shouts at someone, just not always at people you and I can see." He paused, waiting for Hotch or Prentiss to say something.

"What are her episodes usually about?" Prentiss asked kindly.

Spencer looked thoughtful. "She often thinks she's lecturing – she was a college professor before she couldn't anymore. Then she goes as far as to refuse my request to join in if I have not read the assigned reading." Spencer gave an affectionate smile. "Otherwise it's usually conspiracy theories, and when she thinks I am about to get kidnapped, she'll yell I have to leave before they get to me."

"Has your father ever hurt you, or touched you in a way that made you feel uncomfortable?" Hotch asked gently.

"Not really, no." Spencer looked a little doubtful.

"What do you mean?" Prentiss asked.

Spencer gave a half-shrug that was both helpless and annoyed. "Not in a way that would be classified as either physical or sexual abuse. Yes, I know I can tell you if it was the case. No, there's nothing to tell."

"What did your mother think about the appointments of CPS?" Hotch decided to steer the conversation back onto something more comfortable.

"The first time, she was panicked. Government people interested in Spencer Reid, you know?" Spencer asked with a questioning glance at Hotch and Prentiss. At their nods, he continued. "So the next time, I didn't tell her until a few days before the appointment. But that same day I got a letter saying the appointment was once again cancelled. The letter had already been sent before I told my mom there even was an appointment." He shrugged. "The third time the letter was more elaborate, because it explained about the deaths of the earlier two caseworkers. I didn't tell my mom about the appointment at all that time, because she was in a bad shape, and I burned the letter. Then a few days after that appointment I got another letter cancelling the appointment."

Prentiss nodded. "Sensible."

"Thanks." After a moment's pause, Spencer spoke again. "Did they also send those letters to my father? Do you think he did it?"

Prentiss was, again, quick to assure Spencer that they didn't think his father did it.

Spencer gave a sigh. Hotch noted he was starting to get fed up with things again. "Coffee?" He decided to intervene.

Spencer nodded. "You know you're breaking federal law if you're not considering my father a suspect, right?"

"What do you mean?" Prentiss asked sounding a little confused.

"Here you are," Hotch handed Spencer his cup of coffee.

"Because he's not here, and he is, formally, my guardian."

"You don't miss much, do you?" Hotch found he liked this boy. He was witty and honest.

Spencer gave a small smile. "I miss less than most children do."

Hotch nodded, he agreed. "Do you think your father has something to do with it?"

Prentiss didn't agree with the question, apparently, but Hotch shot her a look.

Spencer didn't appear to be insulted by it, though. "It would make sense. He has a motive, a method of gathering the information because he is my father and is a lawyer, and the means to carry out murder."

"What do you mean by motive?" Prentiss asked.

"If CPS finds my mother unfit to be my guardian, I'll probably have to live with my father. That would also give anyone he lives with a motive, actually."


	9. Las Vegas: Rich Reid

When Jennifer Jareau put the photos of the crime scene on the beamer, no one really noticed that Reid was rapidly paling. JJ just continued the briefing. "It's one of the better neighborhoods in Las Vegas. Almost every house has camera systems and security."

Aaron Hotchner spoke, still looking at the pictures. "Reid, can you tell us anything about it? You grew up in Vegas."

Reid didn't speak. When Hotch turned to look at him, he was surprised at how pale Reid was. "Reid? Are you alright?" he asked, worry creeping into his voice.

"Uh, Hotch.. if you want to stay close to the latest crime scene, I think I own the house next to it. And given that all the killings happened in the same neighborhood.."

The team was shocked. Hotch continued all business, though. "Do you have enough bedrooms for all of us? And isn't the house occupied?"

Reid smiled a bitter smile, probably because his neighbor had just been murdered. "Uh, I have six guestrooms, so that's a yes. And no, it's not occupied. I have a housekeeper, though."

JJ spoke up. "Uh, Spence, why do you have such a large house?"

Reid actually looked ashamed. "Do you remember in Atlantic City, when I said I was banned from casino's in Vegas?"

Everyone nodded. "Thanks again for winning me those thirty thousand dollars," Rossi said. The team blinked. Reid hadn't said that he had won thirty thousand dollars.

Reid flashed him a quick grin. "Well, I wasn't banned, exactly. I just made a.. deal, of sorts, with the casino's. I had made quite a lot of money by then through gambling. So I went into an agreement. I get paid for not coming."

Morgan looked incredulous. "You get paid for not coming to a casino?"

Reid nodded. "Morgan, I won thirty thousand dollars in one partially played poker game in Atlantic City. Trust me when I said I won a lot."

Morgan's mouth opened and closed. "I didn't know that was possible."

Reid grinned. "It hadn't been done before, that's for sure. But all the casinos were pretty grateful for my offer."

"Just how much do you get paid for not coming?" Rossi looked curious.

Reid's face turned dark for a fraction of a second. "Enough," he said. "And in most casinos, I can still come, I just don't get to keep my winnings. I don't have contracts with all of them either. But I have contracts with enough to keep my comfortable."

Everyone was shocked. This was definitely a new side of Reid.

"Anyway, Garcia, I'll send you the footage from my security system, although I don't think it will have showed something. Things are pretty secluded around there. By the way, are you coming with us? I don't think the Bureau will make trouble seeing as I won't charge you for staying at my house," Reid said logically.

Garcia smiled. "Vegas, I'm not missing that! Nor am I going to miss your house, junior G-man!" Then she turned to Hotch. "I can go, can't I?" Only Garcia could whine and be threatening at the same time.

Hotch nearly smiled. "Strauss is still gone, so I won't even have to clear it. JJ, can you do the paperwork concerning the hotel, I think it's already booked?"

JJ smiled. "I'll arrange it on the plane."

On the plane, things were a little bit tense. Morgan couldn't understand why Reid wasn't using his wealth for.. "How about a new car, then?"

Reid sighed. "Morgan, I'm not exactly trying to advertise my wealth. Nor do I own things I don't use."

Everyone turned to Reid now. "What other things do you own?"

Reid groaned.

"A few things I actually use, some stocks, and I managed to get myself registered as a private library, which allows me to request books from libraries all over the US. Oh, and I don't hire my apartment, I own it, as well as the apartment next to it. That one is where I keep my books, along with some other stuff."

Morgan was just about to ask another question, but Hotch, seeing that Reid was getting annoyed, interrupted. "Does anyone have any ideas about the case?"

They threw around ideas for a while. Victimology wasn't difficult – all victims were rich, either from old money or they were just successful. However the valuables were not taken. Garcia was going to check employee records from the security systems.

They decided that when the plane landed they would all go to the latest crime scene, where the lead detective would meet them. They would then dump their bags in Reid's house. While the rest of the team was at the crime scene, Garcia would look through Reid's security footage. Then they would go to the station, where Reid would work on the geographical profile (he had started working on it on the plane, but was distracted by Morgan asking him questions). Reid and JJ would also work on victimology.

When the other tasks were divided, everyone went to do their own thing.

Reid then left to call his housekeeper. "Maya? Yes, it's me, can you please set up seven bedrooms including mine? Three male, three female. The plane is landing in three hours, so please hurry." He gave a few other instructions and then hung up.

Three hours later Garcia had found out that every house had the same security system. Luckily Reid didn't have the same one. Reid hadn't been able to define a geographical profile. Sure, the killings were in the same neighborhood, but it was all over the place in that neighborhood. The four killings so far had been in the north, northeast, center and southwest of the neighborhood – while this meant that the same neighborhood would likely be attacked again, it didn't really narrow it down to a specific few streets or something like that.

When they arrived at the crime scene, Reid took Garcia to his own house. He led her straight to his office where he sat her on a chair, logged into the systems and told Garcia to go ahead and watch. Then he disappeared, presumably to go to the crime scene.

The lead detective was shocked that one of the team owned a house in this neighborhood, but was all professionalism. So was the team – they had barely glanced at Reid's house.

After a few hours on the crime scene, the team went to Reid's house.

The team only really saw it then, and it was huge.

Entering, Reid pushed a button on the wall – it appeared to be an intercom – and spoke in it. Only Hotch could overhear him. He said, "Maya? Can you please bring Garcia here, she's in my office?" Receiving an affirmative, the team waited two minutes. A woman in her early fifties appeared, together with Garcia.

"Everyone, this is Maya Redwood. She takes care of my house when I'm not here and takes care of me when I am here," he smiled. He then introduced the team to her. She left soon thereafter.

He then took them to the basement. "Here's a pool and a fitness room. It's not much, but feel free to use it," he said. The team was majorly impressed. It wasn't much when you compared it to the Bureau's facilities, but for a private setting it was absolutely huge.

They went to the ground floor. "This is the dining room, it's set up as an conference room at the moment, should there be any urgent briefings." The dining room could seat twenty people comfortably. There were also two empty evidence boards and a sink.

"Through that door, there's a kitchen, although it's also accessible from the hallway." The kitchen had a table for eight, perhaps ten, people. "Feel free to make your own food, it's stocked. The coffee machine is the best I could find." Everyone either laughed or smiled. Reid and his coffee-drinking habits where legendary.

"I asked Maya to make sure there is breakfast after six every morning and a snack in the evenings. You can cook yourself or ask her to make something for you, as long as you remember she's not your servant." A dark look crossed his face. "I usually cook myself and she doesn't usually hang around when I'm here, but I asked her to stay a couple of days until the case is finished. She's available between six and ten, and for emergencies at other moments. She was a nurse once, so if there's anything wrong, ask her."

The team nodded in understanding.

"Right. Uh, the sitting room is there," Reid pointed in another direction. "You can use anything or enter any room you want, by the way, unless I tell you not to."

He opened the door to show them the room, but they didn't enter. None of them expected to use a lot of that room, seeing as they were on a case.

They passed a restroom and then came to Reid's office. "My office," Reid said. "Knock before entering, please. Garcia's already been there to hack my security system. Did you find anything, by the way?"

Reid's office was large and Reid motioned for them to sit down. It just fit with, with the girls sitting on the couch, Rossi and Morgan sitting in chairs and Reid and Hotch respectively sitting on and leaning against the desk.

Garcia told them what she had found. "Someone between five foot eight to six foot. He half-carried half-dragged the body out of the house. I don't know whether or not it was intentional that he wasn't seen on the camera."

Hotch took over and asked a few more questions, but didn't get any more information. They continued the tour.

In the back of Reid's office there was another door. "That's to the library," Reid said. He opened the door with a proud grin. The room was huge. It was divided in five sections and had a lot of windows. "To the left are my own books, to the right are borrowed books. You can use the table in the middle as workspace and feel free to use the computers. In the back of the book sections there is leisure reading, in front there are study books. If you don't know where to put something, ask Maya or leave it on the table. Don't put books back in the wrong place." He then explained how the books were sorted.

"Oh, that reminds me," Reid said. "All rooms have intercom and every room on the ground floor and in the basement, except the restroom and my office, have camera surveillance." He then explained the intercom. It was very simple. There was a button to call Maya if she was in the house and a button to have a message sound through the whole house. Reid told them to use it as they saw fit, as it was easier than calling or shouting. Reid then demonstrated the system by asking Maya which bedrooms she had made ready.

They went upstairs. Immediately to the left, there were four doors. One, Reid explained, was where Maya stayed when she was in the house, one was "currently not in use" and one was for Reid. The third door was for a luxurious bathroom, where, as Reid explained, was a Jacuzzi as well as a normal shower and such things. There was also a small sink in the hallway with a coffee machine. He then took them to the guestrooms which were in the hallway at their right hand. There also was another stairway to another floor.

There were eight doors. "Ladies are at the left, men at the right side." He then opened the first door at their right. "Hotch, you can have this one." The room was as comfortable as any hotel room. There were three doors at the other side of the room, a double bed, a couch, a TV and a sink. Reid took them to the three doors at the other side of the room. He pointed to the first one, saying, "Closet," then opened the second one, saying "Study." The study had a couch, three chairs, a desk, some bookcases, a telephone and a computer. The third door held a simple bathroom.

Reid then explained, "The first room at the left is also like this. However the other rooms have all a shared bathroom and study. They also have a door leading from the study to the hallway – that's the third door on both sides. They also have two single beds instead of one double bed. Take care with the locks, if you value your privacy you should lock the study and bathroom from inside the bedroom." Everyone understood this.

"Basic first aid stuff is in all the bathrooms, more advanced stuff is above the sink in the hallway. However you can only get medicines, including painkillers, from Maya. She's not fussy and isn't difficult, I just feel better that way. Same goes for alcohol." Rossi gave Reid a weird look, but didn't say anything. Of course, he hadn't been on the team for the Hankel case.

Hotch raised his eyebrows. Reid was really strict with himself about anything that could be used for substance abuse. But Reid didn't even have access to medicines and alcohol himself? That seemed over the top. Hotch decided he would speak to Reid about it.

Reid nodded at the other team members. "You can figure out your rooms for yourself." The tour had taken a good half an hour. "What is next?" Reid looked towards Hotch.

Hotch blinked. "Let's go to the police station."

They went to the police station to discuss things with the lead detective.

After a few days of getting up early and going to bed late, the case was solved. The team was exhausted and they just all fell down on chairs and couches in the sitting room. True to what they had expected, they hadn't used it at all.

The case had been quite horrific, with the unsub stabbing the hostage before the eyes of the BAU near the very end. The unsub was dead, but the hostage was in critical condition. If she survived, she would never walk again. She was only fourteen years old.

Garcia and Maya, who had become good friends, had arranged a movie night. Maya had made popcorn and Garcia had picked out a movie. It was a cartoon and they all laughed a lot.

"Hotch," Reid said, "Can I stay here for a couple of days? Now that I'm here, I'd like to visit my mother. It's Friday, can I at least have the weekend?"

Hotch nodded. "Of course you can," he replied.

Reid smiled, a true, but tired smile. "That's good. Are any of you also staying? I don't mind, and I can pay the plane tickets for the flight back."

Hotch smiled. "I should get back to Jack," he said.

"You can bring him here," Reid supplied. "Has he ever been to Vegas? How about Henry and Will? Maya, are you staying?"

When Rossi, Garcia, Morgan and Prentiss all agreed to stay with Reid for a few days, JJ and Hotch really didn't want to refuse.

Maya, who had joined in for movie night, spoke up. "No, I'll let you have your team building exercise," she grinned. "Are you planning to move Agents Hotchner and Jareau upstairs?" Everyone looked confused.

"Depends on what they want," Reid replied. Turning to the team, he said, "I have another floor with a couple of bedrooms, you can either move up there or we can place another bed in your rooms. Smart choice to let JJ have the double bed," he nodded to the girls. "So, what will it be?"

Hotch and JJ both decided they rather stayed all on one floor. Hotch, JJ and Reid huddled together in a corner of the room to make arrangements.

"Do you want to bring Beth, or Jessica?" Reid asked Hotch. "I have enough room. If you don't want to, perhaps Will can fly with both Henry and Jack?"

Hotch decided to invite Jessica, but not Beth. This really was a team holiday, sort of, and while it would polite to include Jessica because Jack was staying with her, he had no such reasons for including Beth. With Will, it was different: he was an extension of the team. They had worked with him and he and JJ had been together for a long time.

"Garcia?" Reid called. When she looked up, she saw Reid grin. "Is Kevin up for Vegas?"

Garcia's cheer was all the confirmation needed.

As it turned out, Jessica wasn't coming, so Will and Kevin flew with Jack and Henry.

Maya left that evening for her own house. Before she left, Reid invited both her and Hotch into his office.

Once they were seated and had a cup of tea, Reid spoke up. "Hotch, would you be comfortable holding the medicines hostage? And Maya, would you be comfortable letting him?" Some of Reid's insecurities shone through.

Maya spoke first. "Spencer, you know my opinion. I think you can take care of the medicine cabinet yourself. But if you would prefer Agent Hotchner to have the key, then, sure."

Hotch answered in the same vein. "Of course, if you want me to."

Reid nodded, glad that was out of the way. Maya, seeing Hotch had questions, took her leave by telling Reid she was going to get her bag and the keys.

Hotch was quiet for a minute before he spoke. "Are you still struggling, or are you afraid?"

Reid hesitated. "It's mostly that I'm afraid. It's just a comforting thought that someone pays attention to what I take." Hotch could understand that.

That evening, when everybody had gone to bed, Reid was still in the sitting room. He was craving. Cases like this often gave him cravings. He had already called John, his sponsor. John told him he was proud of him for calling. He also advised Spencer to go and do something physical. It would distract him and the endorphins would help.

So that's how Reid ended up in the basement, where he swam and trained his muscles. It was one thirty before anyone joined him.

"You alright?" Rossi asked.

Reid gave a half-shrug. "I've been better, but I'm coping."

Rossi gave a tiny smile. "Never figured you for an ex-junkie."

Reid visibly flinched. "I never expected myself to become one, either. Then again, I was always very focused on not taking anything. Since I never imagined taking anything in the first place, I didn't know how to deal with it once I was addicted and I just kept taking. How did you find out?"

Rossi smiled. "You scratch your arms when cases are difficult, and you generally refuse to take medicines. Today I found out that you don't only refuse to take them, you also refuse to have access to them. And you never drink alcohol. What did you take?"

Reid smiled and sat down, then stood to fetch two water bottles. He threw one to Rossi. "I thought there were rules against inter-team profiling," Reid said dryly. "Hydromorphine, also known as dilaudid."

"There are also rules against using," Rossi replied.

Reid glared at him. "I'm clean. Besides, they can't prove anything."

Rossi looked confused. "Don't you have track marks?"

Reid hesitated. "Yes, but it's complicated."

Rossi leaned back in his chair. "Tell me."

Reid gathered his thoughts. "Have you ever heard of the Hankel case in Georgia? Rumor has it that a Federal Agent was kidnapped and held hostage for a few days, and that video's of his torture were found after they had rescued him."

Rossi nodded. "I've heard of that, yes."

Reid gave a bitter smile. "Bet they didn't tell you that I was that agent, or that the feed was live, or that one of the unsub's personalities – he had DID – had to give me CPR after one of the others killed me." It was turning into a slightly hysterical Reid-ramble. "Nor that that same personality kept shooting me up with dilaudid in an attempt to help. Nor that I was digging my own grave before I shot him, and that Tobias – the personality that wanted to help me – actually thanked me for killing the other personalities. Of course, barely half a minute after that, the cavalry arrived." Reid's hysterical rambling was interrupted by a sob. But he went on. "Sometimes it's funny, you know. Anderson was telling me about that case once. Anderson doesn't like me, I think he's jealous. But he was saying it in such a way as though he was really saying "THAT's a REAL FBI-agent, unlike you."" Reid gave another half-sob. "I failed my gun qualification once. A week later, I shot someone right between the eyes, with an unfamiliar weapon, while lying on the ground. Hotch, I and eight hostages were in one room with a L.S.D.K. Wasn't fun."

Rossi had to admit it, he was impressed.


	10. Mourned Tradition

Reid is tense, Hotch notices. He isn't in the office much, either; coming in a little later, taking longer lunch breaks, and leaving a little earlier. And when he's there, he avoids Hotch. Hotch doubts the other team members notice, because it's very subtle – Hotch only notices because he wants to make some casual-but-private conversation with Reid to find out if he's alright, and he can't find a moment to do this.

Then Hotch sees a note in his agenda. _Of course¸ _he thinks. Reid's gun qualification is coming up. Reid is probably spending time at the shooting range. That doesn't explain the avoidance, however.

So Hotch decides to go to said shooting range one morning when he suspects Reid is there.

Reid's shooting isn't bad, either. He hits his targets, although not always exactly where he wants to – he's off a few inches now and again. And he's amazingly tense. Still, it's more than enough to pass his qualifications.

Hotch leaves the shooting range before Reid can see him.

Later that day, Hotch calls Reid into his office.

"How is your shooting?" he asks when both are nursing cups of coffee. Hotch and Reid are usually very frank with one another. Both don't like to beat around the bush, and as such they don't usually do the social small-talk, except when it's important. But with them there are never the "How are you"'s and the "I'm fine"'s, except for when it matters. Both prefer silence to meaningless chatter, although meaningless chatter isn't always meaningless – sometimes, everything hidden within the "How are you" and everything left unsaid in the "I'm fine" is what is important, and Hotch and Reid do exchange those phrases, then. And Reid's long explanations and statistics are not meaningless, either, although Hotch is one of the few that don't think they are.

Reid swallows. Hotch wonders why he is nervous. "I'm doing alright. I should pass."

Hotch nods. "You're tense, though. Is it because of your upcoming exam, or is there something else?"

Reid makes a strangled sound, somewhere between sobbing and laughing. "Nothing you can help with, Hotch."

The way he says it gives Hotch the feeling that Hotch is, in fact, the problem.

Still, Hotch doesn't ask for elaboration, knowing Reid would not give it. They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Reid has finished his coffee. He sets his mug down and pushes his chair back. "I should go back to work," he says.

That's another thing about conversations between Hotch and Reid – there is never the "Unless there is something else you wanted to discuss?" because both know that if they were going to discuss something else, it would already have been brought up. And sometimes, as it is now, there is something else to discuss, something else that should be discussed, but they won't discuss it anyway.

INSERT LINE

Reid does not go back to his desk; instead, he goes back to the shooting range. Not that it will help, but he can try.

After a session that fails for the same reason as all the others have failed, Reid decides to talk to Elle.

"Want to get some real coffee?" he asks Elle when he's back in the bullpen. Elle looks at him, and Reid knows Elle is thinking about how Reid never invites anyone for coffee. He also knows that Elle is a profiler, and therefore she must have noticed how Reid is tense. So she simply nods and follows Reid out of the bullpen and out of the building, and to a coffee shop across the street.

Originally, they drink in silence, but Reid knows Elle is waiting for him to speak. After a few minutes, he does.

"How did you learn to shoot?" Reid asks with genuine curiosity. Elle is surprised by the question, but Reid can see her do the mental math and he knows she remembers it has been nearly six months since the ER in Illinois.

Elle considers that for a moment. "How do you mean?"

Reid doesn't really know how to explain, which is a first for him. "What did your instructors say? How did they explain the whole point – shoot thing?"

Reid doesn't know how to explain it, but he hopes that Elle understands.

Elle is quiet for a few seconds, and then speaks thoughtfully. "His major points were to focus correctly, to regulate the pressure on the trigger, and to catch the recoil, I think. Is that what you mean? I know others have different wordings – my instructor was somewhat of an oddball, I think."

Reid smiles a little. "That's what I meant, yes. Thanks, Elle."

Reid can see that Elle is confused by the situation, and that she doesn't really see how she helped. But as Reid had noted earlier, she's discrete and knows when not to press.

The conversation moves on to other topics, and that evening at the shooting range, Reid doesn't miss a single shot.

INSERT LINE

Hotch is surprised when the results of Reid's requalification arrive. You need seventy per cent accuracy to pass, and Reid has ninety-six. That's nearly unheard of. Actually, Morgan only scored eighty-eight per cent at his last qualification. Morgan usually has near a hundred per cent for the kill shots, but he tends to shoot to kill sometimes when he should be aiming for non-fatal. Still, Morgan is a good shot, and in the field, he's reliable.

Hotch walks down to the bullpen. "Reid, congratulations," he says with a very sincere smile as he hands Reid the document. "Your score is nearly perfect."

Reid gives Hotch a smile that's a mix between shy, sad and something Hotch can't quite identify. "Thanks."

"What's up, pretty boy?" Morgan says from his own desk. "Got another three-hundred-and-twelve per cent on a test?"

Reid gives Morgan a smile that's sincere, but also thin and nearly bitter – for Reid, anyway. "Ninety-six per cent, actually."

Elle speaks up. "That thing we talked about earlier?" Reid nods, and Hotch is vaguely surprised Reid went to Elle for advice on his gun qualifications. But Elle's smile is wide and sincere as she pat's Reid on the back and says, "I know you could do it."

Hotch notices that Reid doesn't correct Morgan's assumption – that it was his firearm qualifications that Reid passed with flying colors, and not a written exam.

It will be two years before Hotch finds out why.

INSERT LINE

After the situation with Owen Savage in Texas, Hotch vows to keep a closer eye on Reid. It's not much, but Hotch had never realized just how much Reid was still influenced – traumatized, his profiling brain supplies – by the bullying from his childhood.

So one day, he calls Reid into his office. He motions to the couch, so Reid knows the meeting isn't formal – or at least, not the disciplinary sort of formal. "Are you alright?" Hotch asks Reid, sincerely. "I know that last case was hard for you."

Reid looks at Hotch searchingly, and apparently finds what he's looking for, because he answers honestly. "I'm getting there."

Hotch acknowledges that through a nod. "You're avoiding me," he says then. Because Reid is. It's a little less subtle than it was two years ago, but it's definitely there. "You know I don't think less of you because you're meeting." That last sentence is grammatically incorrect, grammatically, but Reid knows what Hotch means.

Reid startles. "That's not it," he says, although he doesn't deny of confirm the statement. "I'm.." Reid sighs, and for what's probably the first time since Hotch has known him, he's lost for words.

"What's it, then?" Hotch pries gently.

Reid is silent for a long time, but Hotch just sits patiently.

"The ER in Illinois," he says finally. "Afterwards, I said I got your plan the minute you moved the hostages out of my line of fire."

Hotch nods, not knowing what that has to do with everything.

"I never said I got your plan the minute you started to.." Reid trails of. After a long moment, he speaks again. "I'm a good actor, which is probably why you didn't realize I understood your plan before you were kicking. But at the beginning, I didn't have to act."

Hotch realizes the implications of what Reid is saying. Reid had been sincerely afraid at the beginning. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't realize." And really, what else can he say?

Reid's lips curl into a wry smile. "Because of that, I associate that ER with being bullied – betrayed – by someone you trust," Reid's breath hitched a few times during that statement, but he doesn't pause. "And you're sort of the trigger, I guess, because I also associate that ER with you," he finished softly. "Coupled with this last case which brought up its fair share of – similar memories.." Reid shrugs. "It's a bit much sometimes."

Hotch nods and wonders whether or not he should pry further. "Two years ago, you were also avoiding me," he notes. It's not a question and Reid doesn't have to clarify if he doesn't want to.

Reid acknowledges that. "I was," he admits. "The curse of an eidetic brain is that I am invariably reminded of being kicked nowadays whenever I hear _front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through_. And my brain is replaying those words whenever I'm at the shooting range."

It's silent for a long while after that.

INSERT LINE

Nowadays, Hotch knows to give Reid space when Reid is avoiding him. It only happened four more times over the years, and Hotch reacts to Reid's avoidance by avoiding being alone with Reid. Hotch will bring coffee to Reid's desk, though, when it happens, and a "period" always ends by Reid bringing coffee to Hotch's office when Hotch is in there, alone.

Hotch will thank Reid for the coffee, and Reid will say "Thank you" with an emphasis on _you_, and both will know they are being thanked for more than coffee. Hotch will have thanked Reid for the trust placed in him, and Reid will have thanked Hotch for the space.

Perhaps it will always be this way. Perhaps the cycle will just die one day. Perhaps it will be mourned.


	11. NSA Reid

"You're serious?" Morgan said, startled. "The NSA wants our help? I thought that agency liked to pretend not to exist."

"We're leaving in fifteen," Hotch replied. "Garcia is coming with us."

Reid was the first one out of the conference room, going to his desk and slipping some files into his messenger bag. No one thought anything about it.

When they arrived, they were met by the Director himself. All shook hands, except for Reid. That wasn't so strange.. what was strange was that the Director didn't need introductions. "And Dr. Reid, of course. We've met."

Reid smiled slightly and tapped on his messenger bag. The Director appeared to know what that meant, though.

"You've finished? Thank god. I didn't think we'd ever solve that one."

Reid snorted. "I'm not going to say it was easy. Code was based on the Periodic Table."

The Director frowned. "We did have a chemist look it over."

"He used a different algorithm for every classification. Metal, noble gas, halogens.. Everything. It took me fourteen hours to crack it."

"Reid?" Hotch frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Reid shrugged. "It's not the first time I'm here."

"Dr. Reid!" a man in his late thirties said. "I didn't know you were coming."

Reid smiled. "Tim," he greeted. "I'm here as FBI, now. These are my teammates – SAC Hotchner, SSA Rossi, SSA Prentiss, SSA Morgan, SSA Jareau and TA Garcia. Everyone, this is Tim Franks. He usually liaises between the computers and me."

Tim snorted. "One way of putting it. Nice to meet you. Dr. Reid talks about you a lot. Although I thought you were dead," he said to Prentiss.

"She wasn't," Reid grumped.

The Director interrupted. "Agent Franks, sit down and we'll start the briefing." Tim did so. "Over the past month or so, an unknown body has been making a hole in our secure network. Although we can counter them, we want to identify this body. CIA is working the foreign angle, we're working domestic. I'd like for Miss Garcia to work with our task force on the hole, for Dr. Reid and Agent Franks to work on cryptology, and the rest of you to identify possible moles in our organization. With your permission, of course, Agent Hotchner."

"Of course," Hotch said. "Where can we set up?"

"Dr. Reid and Agent Franks can use their usual workspace on the eight floor, although they are free to use space on the second. Miss Garcia will be in the workspace of the task force, on the second floor. The rest of you have a conference room on the second floor. Dr. Reid, do you have your files for me?"

"I have," Reid said immediately and handed the Director three plain, brown folders.

The Director nodded. "Thank you. Can you show the other BAU members to conference room 6B?" He gestured to Tim and Reid.

"We will," Tim promised.

"Come on, then," Reid said after the Director had left.

Hotch blinked. "Reid, do you come here often?"

Reid shrugged. "Once every one or two weeks, I suppose? Why?"

"You have a workspace," Prentiss said dryly.

"My office, yes. But I'll set up at second, otherwise it'll be a lot of running around. Six exists of two adjoining conference rooms and an office. I'll set up in the latter." Reid sighed. "I know you all have a lot of questions, but can that wait until this case is finished?"

Hotch frowned. "I don't like it, but alright."

Reid nodded as they arrived at the elevator. "If you need something and you don't have clearance, tell Tim.. he'll arrange something."

Soon, they arrived at the second floor, where Reid first led them to the task force that dealt with the hole in the network. "Garcia, if you see a useless line of code, send it to Tim. It may be a coded message."

"Will do, my sweets," Garcia said.

Conference room 6B was large. Reid pointed to a door. "Tim and I will be in there." They then disappeared through the door.

"What is Pretty Boy up to?" Morgan raised his eyebrows.

"No idea," Prentiss said.

"Focus on the case, please," Hotch interrupted.

They started familiarizing them with the case files.

After thirty minutes or so, Reid flew into the conference room. "I'm pretty sure this is from an organization led by someone who calls himself Thor. We don't know a lot about him, though." Reid frowned.

Tim spoke from behind Reid. "You want me to run down to the cyberlab?"

"Please," Reid nodded.

Tim disappeared through the door.

"How are you coming along?" Reid asked.

"We were just about to go and interview some people of the list of possible moles we were handed," Hotch said. "Can you tell us about them?"

"Depends on who they are," Reid shrugged. "Who's the first?"

"Lila Simpson," Hotch read.

Reid frowned. "I don't get along with her. To be honest, I don't see what she's doing with the NSA. She wants recognition and that's not something you get here. She doesn't care what the recognition is for, either – whether it's for something she actually did or something she wasn't a part of."

Hotch nodded. "Samuel Dente?"

This way, they worked down the whole list, although Reid didn't know all of them. Reid gave them a warning as they finished. "Take care not to accuse or to insult anyone. Just make friends, ask them what they think. Treat them all as though they are Philip Dowd's. Just don't kick your partner." Reid let a smile show. "And don't flirt as a pre-emptive measure."

Hotch nodded. "Alright."

Just then, Tim went inside. He sighed. "Cyberlab doesn't know anything. We have someone on all notable agencies asking about Thor."

Reid nodded. "Good. Let me know if they have something." He thought for a moment. "I'm running to Garcia for a moment."

"I'll go with you," Morgan offered.

Reid frowned. "I don't think they'll allow you entry. It's likely they are airtight, and you're basically a civilian."

"I'm a Federal Agent," Morgan protested.

"You don't work here," Reid explained. "You don't have clearance."

Reid turned and left, not explaining further.

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "What was that about?"

"He's right," Tim said. "You wouldn't get inside. Reid had to do a lot of talking to get your TA inside. Even now, she's not allowed to do anything except for analyzing and advising."

"Let's go and interview the people on our list," Hotch said. "Morgan and Prentiss, you take the first four. Rossi and I will take the last three."

After ninety minutes, all returned. Tim and Reid were in the other conference room.

"Reid asked me not to disturb him," Tim said when Hotch entered the conference room. "He's in the office. Go in only if it can't wait."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "You're sure?"

Tim nodded. "He needs time for uninterrupted thinking, I suppose. You should have seen him when he was working on this one difficult code. He worked for thirty hours straight, then passed out from a lack of food and water. Of course, he was still recovering from anthrax by then, so he wasn't hundred per cent."

Before Hotch could answer, Reid came out of the office carrying a file. "I think I've got something. Can you fax this through the cyberlab and to the Director? And to server management. I'll stop by there as soon as I'm finished, but I know which servers are going to be attacked next." He handed Tim the files, then blinked when he saw Hotch "Oh. Hi, Hotch. Didn't see you there."

Hotch snorted. "That was clear. Do you have something?"

"Not for the profile, how about you?"

"Not a lot," Hotch said. "I'm not even sure there is a mole."

"There is one. Focus on those with access to server management. I can take you there? I have to go there anyway."

"I can get in there?" Hotch asked, tilting his head slightly. "I thought you said everything was locked down tight."

Reid frowned. "Not server management. Tim, can you increase security there? No one goes in without two guards, everyone signs in, and everyone states their purpose. Security should make sure the purpose is carried out, nothing else. And no one makes notes of the lay-out of the room."

"Got it," Tim said, taking his phone.

"Let's go, then," Hotch said.

Server management was on the third floor. "Most of Cyberlab is on the second and third floors," Reid commented. "From down to up, it's the gym, archives, library reception, recovering, sorting, decoding, analyzing, directing."

"And what are you?" Hotch asked, curious.

"Eight floor," Reid said. "I think just about everything else I can tell you would be classified."

"And Tim Franks?" Hotch asked.

"He's Garcia and JJ's old role combined," Reid said. "Only he's that to me, not to a unit. Oh, here is server management."

"Identification?" a guard said – one of four.

Reid held out a badge. "Dr. Reid, eight floor. Escorting SSA Hotchner, FBI, consulting."

Hotch held out his credentials. The guard nodded. "Purpose?"

"I need to see the lay-out of the room to apply a new algorithm. I asked Agent Hotchner to accompany me so he can act on any information I may learn."

The guard nodded and allowed them entry. Two of the guards followed with them.

Reid flew through the room, tapping servers now and then. Hotch looked on, bemused. The guards looked fascinated.

"I have what I need," Reid said to the guards.

In the elevator, Reid spoke again. "Garcia showed me how they had hacked the server. There were a few notable things in the code, which I decrypted. They were basically an algorithm to which server would be hacked next."

Hotch nodded. "Why did you tell the guards you're from the eight floor?"

Reid tilted his head. "The building is, in a way, a food chain. See it like this – the rookie to seasoned ratio on the first floor is around two to one. On the eight floor, there are no real rookies. So saying I'm on eight floor is similar to acting like you belong there. Only this works better."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "There are nine floors. You're on eight."

Reid looked embarrassed. "Uh, there's a rooftop? So you could also say there are ten."

They exited the elevator. "What's Cyberlab?"

"All of second and a part of third," Reid said. "I'm going to check in with Garcia, anything you need to ask her?"

"Her insights," Hotch said. They stopped before the conference room.

"Come with me, then," Reid said. "I'll bluff you through."

"Why wouldn't you let Morgan come?" Hotch asked curiously.

Reid shrugged. "He wanted to say 'hi'. You want to do something useful. And Garcia'll have to fight to have her advice listened to. If Morgan shows up and calls her baby girl, it won't help."

They met two guards by the door of the room Garcia was in. "Identification?"

"Dr. Reid, eight floor. Escorting SAC Hotchner, FBI, consulting. One of his subordinates, TA Garcia, is inside."

Both presented their credentials. Hotch noted that Reid didn't present his FBI credentials – rather those of the NSA.

"I have narrowed it down to three servers which will be attacked next," he said to the 'commander' of the task force. "My advice is to increase watch and possibly security, but only if doing so does not leave a window. I don't want anyone to work on these things alone, everyone will have their code checked by a colleague. We know there is a mole. Don't give him a chance."

"I understand," the man said solemnly. "Who is your companion?"

"SAC Hotchner, Unit Chief of TA Garcia, FBI, consulting," Reid introduced.

Just then Garcia appeared. "Who calls me?" Garcia said. "Reid! Bossman!"

"Garcia, do you have any insights?" Hotch said, immediately going to business.

"This guy is creepy good, but he's also a showpony and thinks he's just a little bit better than he really is," Garcia said softly, so the others couldn't overhear. "Everything he does is watertight, but not airtight."

Back in the conference room, Reid disappeared into the office again while the others kept adding to the profile. When Reid re-appeared, it was finished.

"Who should we present this to?" Hotch asked.

"I'll ask the assistant director," Reid said.

In the end, the assistant director recognized the profile when he saw it and they caught the mole when he was trying to weaken the security around one server. The mole got off with a deal: life in a medium security prison in return for information resulting in the capture of Thor.

The case was a success. Local agents arrested Thor, whose real name was James Bennett.

Morgan insisted on celebrating in Reid's office. Reid also invited Tim. When they arrived at the eight floor, they were surprised. Reid was greeted and congratulated by everyone they saw.

Before they got to Reid's office, they first had to go through an outer office, although Reid had another explanation. "This is Tim's office," Reid said. "Connected offices seemed useful, and given that everything usually goes through Tim anyway, this just made sense."

Reid's office was roomy, spacy, and _large_. Well, they could at least sit comfortably. Enough space, enough chairs.

"So, how do you get to work for the NSA?" Morgan asked.

Reid shrugged. "You do realize I'm one of the best educated men in the country? I get a lot of job offers. It started as a consult and became more."

"What's your position?" Prentiss asked Tim.

Tim looked thoughtful and didn't reply for a while. Then: "I enable Dr. Reid to do his job."

"What Tim does is a combination of Garcia's job and what used to be your job," Reid supplied. "He's the one who decides priority, emergencies, and what gets send back."

"Why didn't you tell us? After that mess with the Pentagon, and then with Doyle.." Hotch said.

Reid smiled mischievously. "My contract with the FBI has a special clause," he said. "Meaning they can't trade me within government agencies without my consent."

"How did you get that into it?" JJ said, eyes wide.

Reid shrugged. "Wide brown doe eyes. I pretended the possibility scared me. I was twenty-one – it wasn't that hard."

Rossi was, apparently, the only one who was relatively unsurprised. Hotch directed him a questioning glance.

"C'mon, it wasn't that hard. You all forget he's not twenty-one anymore." Rossi said. "But what is your job, exactly?"

Reid smirked. "Classified," he deadpanned.

"Reid –" Morgan started.

Tim snorted. "You think he's lying?"

"All NSA matters are classified," Prentiss said.

"What's the story behind you anyway?" Tim asked curiously. "And I hope there is one, because otherwise I'm going to punch someone. Reid was in a real mess."

"We gave her a new identity," JJ explained. "Until things were safe again."

Tim gave her a strange look. "You didn't. I checked. Reid checked."

JJ averted her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Morgan frowned.

No one spoke for two minutes or so. Then Reid sighed. "If someone is in danger, the US Marshals protect or relocate them. What our team members did was smuggling her out of the country, telling us she's dead, telling us she's alive and then having the gall to tell us the Marshals did it. Do you see now why I was angry? It's one thing to lie to protect a friend, but then to lie for no reason at all? Then apparently, they also played online scrabble." Reid glared at JJ, hard. "I tracked down your accounts, by the way. CheetoBreath. It wasn't all that difficult, given that you had used your regular e-mail address to sign up. Then, I asked someone to hack into the website." Reid stood and rummaged in a drawer. "It took him eight minutes. These are all your conversations you had while she was supposedly dead. Just to remind you, it's not exactly a state secret that Garcia calls Morgan 'Chocolate Adonis', so that's not a good alias to use when talking about him."

JJ flinched. Morgan looked angry. "Is it true what she's saying?"

"Yes, but –" JJ started.

"Forget it," Morgan said angrily.

Meanwhile, Rossi turned to Hotch. "I didn't take you to be so stupid."

"How did you find out?" Hotch asked Reid.

Reid shrugged. "Prentiss had resigned, remember? So it didn't really make sense that you knew about her location. Nor did it for JJ, because she might be your contact with the DOD, but not with the Marshals. Still, that one made a little more sense." Reid snorted. "You know Tim and I actually used to laugh about it. In those grief sessions, you used to tell me I didn't have to hide, I should say what I want to say, blah blah blah. Then Prentiss is alive after all and I can't be angry. I behaved extremely professional in my anger, yet I get reprimanded when someone brings personal problems to work." Reid sighed. "I'm going to the roof. Be back in twenty."

Rossi stared at Hotch incredulously. "If that's all true, you have fucked up big. How are you gonna fix it?"

Hotch stared after Reid. "Summed up like that, I feel like I should hand in my resignation."

"If I may give you a piece of advice – wait ten minutes and go after him," Tim supplied. "When Reid says 'I'm upset, I'm going to that direction, and I'll be back in x minutes' it's actually an invitation to join him once half that time has passed. And he hasn't lost trust in you completely." He spoke solely to Hotch.

"He has in us?" Prentiss was clearly referring to herself and JJ.

"In you, not initially. At least, he initially attributed it to Stockholm Syndrome. But when you basically told him the ulcer you got in Paris was his fault.. well, he lost that, too."

"Stockholm syndrome?" Garcia asked. Her lower lip was nearly trembling at all she'd just heard.

"She'd been reliable on Jareau only for so long it became second nature to support her lies," Tim shrugged. "Hey, don't glare at me. Don't shoot the messenger. And don't rip the message if it's truth."

"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when we first practice to deceive," Reid said from the doorway. "Sir Walter Scott."

"You're back early," Tim said mildly.

Reid shrugged and sat down. "It's cold on top. Hotch, do you have any idea what I should do with the paperwork concerning this case?"

"How so?" Hotch shook himself from his thoughts.

"Technically I did this case as an FBI agent, but half the stuff I did is classified. I can hand my reports to the Director, but I doubt he'd appreciate that."

Hotch thought for a moment. "Don't add the classified things."

"Okay," Reid agreed. "I'll add a note anyway, that those who want to read the whole thing should get clearance from NSA.


	12. Nobel Reid

Reid entered the bullpen later than usual. Everyone from the BAU was already present. Reid hadn't meant to be late, but just as he had left his apartment building, he had been held up by someone who wanted Reid to sign for a letter. After the deliverer had left, Reid had opened the letter and fainted. Not wanting to call in sick, Reid had arrived at FBI Headquarters an hour and a half late.

Upon entering the bullpen, Reid absently said "Hi" to Morgan and Prentiss – ignoring their worried and, after realizing who he was, relieved expressions (which turned to worry once they noticed the blood on his face) – and walked towards Hotch's office.

Reid knocked and received permission to enter. Hotch was surprised when he saw Reid standing in the doorway, and he quickly stood. "Reid! We were worried about you. You're usually one of the first ones in." Taking a closer look at the doctor, Hotch's brow furrowed. "What happened to your forehead?"

Reid's hand moved towards his forehead and stumbled upon a small cut. He jerked back surprised, as though he had not yet noticed the wound. "I fainted this morning." At Hotch's shocked look, Reid elaborated. "I was just about to leave for work when someone brought a letter for me. I had to sign for it. When I read the letter, I either was shocked, stumbled, hit my head and lost consciousness, or I was shocked, fainted and hit my head. Given that I've never been much of a fainter, I think it's the first."

Hotch, ever practical, decided to take care of the issue at hand first. "Sit down," he waved in the direction of the chairs in front of Hotch's desk. He then took his first aid kit from a shelf and sat down in the other chair, adjusting its position slightly so that he could easily take care of Reid's head wound.

Hotch frowned at the wound after he had cleaned it. "It won't need stitches," he decided. "But it's still bleeding. Then again, scalp wounds do that. If it's still bleeding in an hour, I want you to go to the infirmary, alright?" After a moment of pause, he continued, "That also goes for showing signs of a concussion."

Reid frowned, but acquiesced

"Now, what's up with the letter? Something I can help you with?" Hotch hoped it was nothing bad.

"I need some time off," Reid said. "A lot of time off, actually. And I'm about to become a millionaire." Pausing for a second, Reid continued, "Oh! Can you recommend me a tailor? I'm going to need a suit."

Hotch was worried. Had someone died and was Reid about to inherit a fortune? "Reid, what's up?"

"Oh god! I have to find a date for the banquet!" Reid panicked.

Okay, so apparently no funeral. That was good. Hotch put his hand on Reid's arm.

"Reid, what is going on?" Hotch pressured.

By way of an answer, Reid handed Hotch a letter from his pocket.

Hotch could understand why Reid had fainted after reading the letter. Reid had, apparently, been awarded a Nobel Prize.

"I think I need November and December off, Hotch. I have to write a lecture and I have to find a date. How do you find a date? And I can't dance!"

Addressing the last concern first, Hotch informed Reid that any female team members would likely be happy to teach Reid how to dance. Reid looked somewhat relieved. Hotch decided to continue addressing concerns, because Reid would otherwise send himself and everyone around him into a frenzy.

"As for the tailor – I'd be happy to recommend you one. For the date.. You're not seeing anyone?" When Reid shook his head, Hotch continued, "I know Prentiss is often worrying about who to ask for her mother's parties. Perhaps you can offer to accompany her to one of those as a trade.

They continued in this vein for a few minutes – Reid came up with problems and Hotch came up with solutions. Then Hotch concluded, "I can get you an appointment with my tailor, if you'd like?"

Reid nodded. "That would be brilliant."

Hotch was glad that Reid had calmed down. "Alright. You should also ask Prentiss to recommend a few books on formal etiquette, things like that."

Reid nodded thoughtfully. That would probably be a good idea. "Are you telling the team?" Reid asked Hotch.

"I have to tell them that you are taking time off. Garcia will likely find out what you are doing, so I suggest you inform them yourself." Hotch paused. "And it won't be long before the names are formally announced. Garcia will extract her revenge if the world knows before she does, so.."

Reid nodded. "I'll tell them over lunch," he sighed.

INSERT LINE

The BAU had lunch in the conference room. Hotch had told everyone to be present for an informal announcement, so to speak. After everyone was sitting and the door was closed, Hotch called for everyone to pay attention to Reid.

Reid didn't really enjoy all the attention, of course, so he tried to spit it out as quickly as possible. "I'm taking November and December off."

After the chorus of what's and why's, Reid continued.

"I have to write a lecture, present said lecture and I have to attend a ball. It's.." Reid hesitated for a moment. "I've sort of been awarded a Nobel Prize."

It was suddenly very silent.

"Oh, Reid!" Garcia squealed, and she walked towards Reid to hug him.


	13. Rebuilding Unity

Hotch was surprised when Reid called him two days after the cooking lesson at Rossi's. "Hotch, can I come over? I need to talk to someone. Pick your brains. As a friend."

It was about the last thing Hotch had expected, because even though Reid had been at the dinner party, he'd avoided JJ like the plague and it hadn't been much better with Hotch.

"Of course," Hotch agreed immediately. "I'm at my apartment."

"I'll be there in thirty," Reid said.

Thirty-five minutes after that, both were sitting in the living room of Hotch's apartment, each with a cup of coffee. Hotch waited for Reid to speak, which he did.

"You know why I'm not angry at you about this mess?" Reid started.

"No," Hotch admitted.

"You very clearly separated your position as my friend from your position as my boss," Reid said slowly. "As my friend, it's your.. duty to be truthful. As my boss, it's your duty to follow the orders from your boss. As my boss, it's entirely within your rights to lie. There's no personal trust there. I trust you, as my friend, to tell me the truth.. or at least, not to lie when the lie will hurt. As my Unit Chief, I trust your competency and your judgment, and I trust you to work within your orders to enable your subordinates to do the job to the best of their abilities. Do you see the difference?"

Hotch thought for a moment. "I do."

"I can't be angry with my boss for following orders," Reid said. "Because the supervisor was following orders and if you lied to a subordinate in the process, that doesn't really matter, because the.. relationship between a supervisor and a subordinate isn't based on emotion or trust in someone's personality. It's based on superiority, seniority and trust in one's competency and judgment."

Reid was silent for a minute or so, sipping from his coffee. "But when Miss Jareau from the Department of Defense stormed into a hospital room, told us Agent Prentiss from the FBI was dead, and then hugged SSA Dr. Spencer Reid, she lied to me as a friend. Because she didn't hug SSA Reid.. that would be inappropriate. She hugged Spencer, her friend, and at that time, she wasn't Miss Jareau.. she was JJ, my friend, my godson's father. She lied to me as a friend. You didn't do that."

"I think I see where you're coming from," Hotch said. He hadn't looked at it that way.

Reid nodded. "I thought you might. Now when we're out on the streets, just doing our jobs, and I'm not chatting with her.. because in that moment eight months ago, she proved she wasn't my friend, that she was just a coworker, she becomes angry that I'm not treating her as a friend. Then we're in the middle of a police station, where I'm again just doing my job.. she starts airing dirty laundry that has no relevancy to the case. And then my coworkers are angry at me because I'm treating a coworker as a coworker, and during work hours, which I was getting paid for, mind you, she starts trying to clear up a personal problem."

Hotch blinked. "We were not fair," he stated. It wasn't a question, either.. it was more of an admission, a confession.

"You were not," Reid nodded, agreeing. "Then on the plane back home, Prentiss all but accuses me of causing her first ulcer.. I didn't even know she was alive by then.. she tells me she mourned six friends so I have no right to complain because I only mourned one.. and then asks me not to cause her another ulcer. She had no right to do that."

"I agree," Hotch said. "Although she's going through a difficult time."

"I know she is," Reid said. "But that doesn't really change anything, does it? I was also going through a difficult time when my dead friend suddenly turned out to be alive after all. Do you know I actually feared I might be delusional for a moment? So then I decided to go to the cooking lesson, because if I didn't, everyone would be angry at me and it would be my fault.. again. I'm a bit tired of that."

Hotch nodded. "What are you going to do now? You sound as though you're.. finished."

Reid inclined his head. "I'm not sure. Right now, I'm debating whether or not staying with the BAU is really worth it. To be honest, I can't find a reason."

Hotch was a little shocked. He had not expected that. "I don't want to lose you," he said.

"Hotch, what do you want me to do? The team expects me to treat colleagues that are not my friends as friends during work hours. And I'm sick of a lot of things."

"Such as?" Hotch was curious.

Reid shrugged. "Morgan always calls me 'kid', even though I'm almost thirty. I'm deliberately introduced as though I'm not an Agent."

"What do you mean?" Hotch said, not understanding.

"'These are Agent Morgan, Agent Prentiss and Dr. Reid.' 'These are Agents Morgan, Prentiss and Dr. Reid.' It's inaccurate. Because when I'm being introduced to local police, I'm there as Agent Reid, not as Dr. Reid. When I'm guest lecturing at Georgetown, I'm introduced as Dr. Reid, because I'm there as an academic."

Hotch inclined his head. "I hadn't thought about it that way. I'll remedy that immediately."

"I'd be grateful," Reid said. "Did you know that Seaver started counting on me to do her paperwork even before she graduated from the Academy?"

"What?" Hotch asked, angrily.

Reid shrugged. "I didn't really mind when Elle was dumping her files on my desk, because she was honest about it. The others all do it behind my back. Garcia and you are the only ones who don't, actually. I never said anything about it because I didn't want to cause friction, but everyone just assumes I don't have a life, so I may just as well do their paperwork. And it didn't matter if I was recovering from anthrax, recovering from knee surgery, recovering from the Hankel thing.. it always continued. I wouldn't mind doing it if they asked, but they don't ask, they exploit. Quite frankly, I'm tired of it."

"I understand," Hotch said slowly, softly.

Reid nodded. "I figured you would. But Hotch – Aaron – as my friend, can you give me one reason to stay with the BAU?"

Hotch thought about the question for a long time. "As far as I know, you do enjoy the work," he offered.

"I do, but there are other things I enjoy at least as much," Reid said.

Hotch nodded. "You're saving lives."

"Again, I can do that in other positions."

Hotch thought again. "You obviously don't enjoy the work environment, so that's not a good reason. You see a lot of the country. The job is never the same. You see a lot of interesting things."

Reid was silent for a while. "I consult with the NSA sometimes," he said quietly. "When I enter the building, I'm practically waited on hand and foot. There, it's nearly annoying. But in here, I'm the joke of the Bureau. I appreciate that even less."

He sighed. "Hotch, I'll be handing in my resignation within two months. I know someone who can take my place. She'd be an asset to your team."

Hotch closed his eyes. "I can't convince you to stay?"

"I asked you for a reason, and you couldn't give me one," Reid said quietly. "And if I stay, nothing will change. You would try, of course, but in the end, it would still be the same. Walking over Dr. Spencer Reid is so common, people don't even think about it anymore."

Hotch nodded. "Give me six weeks," he said with a pained expression. "Then consider again."

Reid inclined his head. "Six weeks to find or create a reason. Good luck."

INSERT LINE

"Agent Jareau? My office, please," Hotch said two days after the conversation with Reid.

JJ looked puzzled, but went into Hotch's office.

"Sit down," Hotch directed.

"What's it?" she asked, frowning.

"I don't want to give you an official reprimand, especially not so soon after this latest mess," Hotch started carefully. "But you need to behave more professional."

"What do you mean?" JJ said, a little defensive.

Hotch stared at her. "If a coworker and you have a problem in your personal relationship, you should not bring that to work. More than that, you should not try to solve it during work time, especially not if said coworker indicates he does not wish to do so."

"This is about Reid, isn't it?" JJ said, annoyed.

"I didn't notice any trouble between you and Reid in your professional relationship," Hotch said. "Until you approached him to talk about your friendship, that is. I don't mind if you seek him out in your own time, but do not do so when you're working."

Jareau clearly didn't agree, but didn't argue. "Was that all?" she said, her face carefully neutral.

"It was."

INSERT LINE

The next morning, Reid had a lecture at Georgetown, so Hotch called all team members to the conference room. Except for Garcia, that is.

"I know all of you have been slipping Reid your paperwork. I want this to stop now." Hotch spoke forcefully. "If you need help with something, ask. But there is no reason why he should do your jobs."

Morgan blinked. "Why is this a problem now?"

"I wasn't aware it was happening," Hotch glared. "However, I am now, and I want it to stop. Do you realize that one of the biggest mysteries in my career was why Reid usually arrived earlier and went home later than every other member of the team? He's often here before I arrive. What gives you the right to do that?"

Most members looked down guiltily.

"I want all of you to go to Reid's pile of files and remove everything you've slipped him. I will divide what's left between you. If you think it's okay to have someone do another's job, it should go both ways."

The punishment was infinitely childish, but Hotch hoped it would work.

"Isn't that a little harsh?" Prentiss frowned.

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "If you think so, then why are you doing the same thing to him?"

Prentiss didn't have a reply for that.

INSERT LINE

The Dr. Agent thing was a bit harder to solve. Over the next three cases, Hotch tried to make sure he'd be the one to make introductions every time, and mostly, he succeeded.

Morgan was the first to catch up on it. "Hey, Hotch? Why are we back to introducing Reid as 'Agent'?

Hotch raised an eyebrow and set his file on the table between them. They were on the plane, coming back from a case. "Why didn't we do so to begin with?"

Morgan blinked. "Because it would tell people he's not a high school kid if he's being introduced as Dr."

Hotch nodded. "Does he look like a high school kid to you?" Now, everyone on the plane was listening.

Morgan looked. "Not really," he admitted.

"So people won't perceive him as such. I was thinking, and I realized that on cases, Reid is there in his capacity as an SSA, not as a PhD. Therefore it makes much more sense to introduce him as SSA. Technically, it should be SSA Dr. Reid, I suppose, but that's a bit of a mouthful."

Morgan nodded thoughtfully. Over the plane, Prentiss looked thoughtful, Rossi raised his eyebrows at Hotch, and Reid gave him a quick smile.

INSERT LINE

Hotch went over to Reid's apartment this time. "How am I doing?" he asked as he was sipping his coffee.

Reid smiled slightly. "Well enough. You do know that technically it's SSA Dr. Dr. Dr. Dr. Reid MA BA?"

Hotch blinked. "When did you graduate?" He extended his hand. Reid shook it with a smirk. "Congratulations."

"A little while ago. I now have a PhD in Psychology, a Master's degree in Sociology and a Bachelor's degree in Philosophy. I'm not sure what to pursue next. A PhD in Sociology, perhaps. Or a degree in Physics."

Hotch nodded. "Next time you're graduating, let me know. I'll be in the audience applauding."

Reid clearly hadn't expected that and looked startled. "I'll consider it."

"Has anything changed?" Hotch asked after a few minutes.

"I'm now being introduced as Agent by everyone except Jareau. Jareau doesn't bother me nearly as much during work hours. My file pile is so small I'm nearly bored sometimes." Reid paused, then continued. "It's definitely better. I don't know if it's enough."

Hotch nodded, not responding. He waited for Reid to continue.

"One reason you didn't mention is that I like being in the field, and that this job is about the perfect mixture of field and desk." Reid shrugged. "I can lecture at Harvard or Princeton, or just at Georgetown if I want to stay close, but then I wouldn't leave the building. NSA and the DOD wouldn't put me in the field, either. The CIA might, but that would likely be very sporadically. Interpol would probably be my best bet if I want to continue this type of work."

Hotch blinked. "You think you can get into those agencies?"

Reid raised his eyebrows. "Hotch, I get more job offers than bills, and I mean literally. Yes, I can. You seem to forget that I'm among the top regarding education."

"True," Hotch admitted.


	14. Reid Afraid of Restraints

"Hotch," Reid's voice breathed into the cell phone, sounding anxious but relieved. "Can you – can you come?"

Hotch immediately grew concerned and moved to put on his coat. "I'm on my way. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I'm.. I ha.. He.." Reid apparently couldn't decide what to say, increasing Hotch's worry. Hotch was in his car now. "You have my key," Reid said finally.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Hotch promised. "You're at your apartment, right?"

"Yeah?" Reid's breath speed increased. Then the phone shut off.

Hotch hit the gas pedal and sped to Reid's apartment, arriving there in thirteen minutes.. never mind that it was a twenty minute drive.

He held his hand on his gun as he entered the apartment. Reid was sitting in the corner of his living room, hands behind his back, eyes closed, hyperventilating. Hotch knelt beside him. "Reid?"

Frightened eyes opened. "H-hotch?" he gasped.

Hotch laid a hand on Reid's knee. "I'm here. Are you alright?" he asked gently.

"Can't get them off," Reid said. He moved his shoulders and arms. "Can't – urgh!" Reid moved forward fast. The sound of metal clashing sounded.

Oh.

Reid was cuffed to the radiator and was tugging at the handcuffs, obviously trying to break free. "Reid, is there someone else in your apartment?" Hotch was pretty sure the answer would be no, but asked anyway.

"Just you 'n me," Reid said.

Hotch nodded. "Are these your own cuffs?" They were standard issue handcuffs, and Hotch thought they were Reid's – Reid's had a distinguished scratch next to the lock, just as Hotch's had one next to the chain and Morgan's had a few on the rotating arms.

Reid blinked and nodded.

"Reid, calm down," Hotch said softly. "Breathe in .. and out.. In.. out.. There you go. In.. Out.."

After two minutes or so, Reid's breathing calmed. Hotch nodded approvingly.

"Where is the key?" Hotch asked.

Reid blinked again and tugged at the cuffs. "Fell," Reid said. "Under the.." Reid, again, tugged futilely. "Thingy. Radiat.." Reid's voice trailed off.

"Alright. I'm going to look for them. You just breathe calmly, okay?" Hotch stated. He kept a hand on Reid's knee, hoping it would prevent him from panicking.

He found the key easily enough and unlocked Reid. "Easy," he said. Reid sighed in relief as he was freed and immediately moved his arms to the front of his body, hugging himself.

Hotch waited for Reid to get his composure back. "Can you stand?" he asked after a few minutes.

"I.. think so," Reid said after a moment. Hotch moved to his feet and extended a hand. Reid took it and stood, a little wobbly.

"Let's sit down," Hotch said, checking Reid for injuries as they went to the couch.

As Reid sat, Hotch thought for a moment. "Can I get you something? A glass of water, perhaps?" Reid's lips were dry, he probably hadn't drunk anything in a few hours.

Reid nodded. "Please."

Hotch returned with two glasses of water and handed one to Reid, placing the other on the coffee table. He then also sat down on the couch. Reid sipped slowly from his glass.

"What happened?" Hotch asked eventually.

Reid set down his glass and hugged his knees, which he had pulled on the couch. "I can't.. Georgia.." Reid shuddered. "I'm not gonna talk about it."

"Okay," Hotch agreed mildly.

Reid nodded sharply, although it appeared to be more to clear his head than to acknowledge what Hotch had said.

After a while, he spoke. "I couldn't handle pressure on my wrist, afterwards," Reid said. "Not even – not even cloth. Like – sleeve cuffs."

Hotch nodded. He suspected he knew where this was going.

"So I started.. training," Reid said softly. He let out a dry laugh that was more like a sob than anything else. "It didn't go so well today."

Hotch hesitantly reached out his hand. Reid took it, apparently drawing strength from it.

"I can't – have them behind me," Reid whispered. "But I want to.. just want it to be over." He clutched Hotch's hand closer to his chest. Hotch moved closer to Reid, if only to prevent Reid from moving his arm into an uncomfortable position. "Forget."

Hotch didn't reply, just squeezed Reid's hand softly.

"Gideon.. Gideon said it was _okay_ to struggle," Reid nearly gasped, upset. "As if I need his fucking _permission_."

Hotch was surprised by the bitterness in Reid's voice, but if Gideon had said that.. "He said that?" Hotch asked, a little angrily.

Reid didn't move. "Yeah," he said. "Wonder why I called you?" He said in an empty voice.

Now that Hotch thought about it, that wasn't what he would expect. "Now that I think about it, it's rather unexpected."

Reid shrugged and glanced at Hotch, then looking away and dropping Hotch's hand. Hotch didn't retract it, though, keeping it available.

Reid picked up his glass and stared into it, sipping now and then.

"How were you planning to get your cuffs open?" Hotch asked, curious. The question was neutral enough – not asking about emotions – to distract Reid.

"I taped the lock to the radiator," Reid said. "But I.. panicked, moved and it fell."

Hotch nodded, sipping his own glass of water. Reid appeared calm enough for the next question.

"What now?"

Reid blinked. "What d'ya mean? You're not ordering me another psych eval, are you?"

"I'm not," Hotch assured him quickly. "I'm here as your friend, not as your boss. What I mean is, are you calling me again next week? I'm glad you called me, but I'd rather not have you in distress."

Reid ducked his head and didn't answer.

After a few moments, when it was clear Reid wasn't going to say something, Hotch reached out to move Reid's chin into a position where they could look at each other. "How about next time you call me before you try something, and I'll tie you up?"

Reid moved his head away. "Hotch, you don't have to.."

"Spencer, you're my friend," Hotch said sincerely. "I don't want you to be in distress, or at least, not alone and in distress. If I can do something to prevent that, I'll do so gladly."

"Alright," Reid said, hesitating and unsure.

INSERT LINE

The next Saturday, Hotch went to Reid's apartment at two, wearing semi-casual clothes.. a dress shirt, but no suit jacket and no tie. Over the week, he'd researched some safety measures regarding bondage, mostly. Something that just about every book and website stressed was the necessity of a safe word, so he planned to install that.

Reid was nervous, but let Hotch in and offered him coffee. Hotch accepted.

"How do you want to do this?" Reid asked, nervously.

"I think you should pick a safe word," Hotch said mildly. "I'll unbind you immediately if you use it."

"Uh.. Quantico," Reid said.

Hotch nodded, registering that to his memory. "Where do you want to do this?"

Reid blinked. "Not on a kitchen chair," he said slowly. "Not on the couch, either, because that wouldn't be real."

Hotch ran through the places in Reid's apartment in his mind. "That would leave the ground or your bed, I suppose. Preference?"

"Ground," Reid said quickly. Hotch had expected that, because binding someone in the bedroom hinted at something else.

Hotch finished his coffee. "Come on, then."

After surveying Reid's living room, he decided to bind Reid to the coffee table. The radiator didn't seem such a good idea after the last time.

Both sat on the ground, Reid with his arms behind him. When Reid started to get antsy, Hotch decided to distract him. "What inspired the Pirates of Penzance?" It was the first thing he thought of.

Reid blinked, looked at Hotch, and started talking.

An unforeseen consequence of this, though, was that while talking, Reid usually moved his hands.. a lot.

After a few minutes, during which Hotch asked Reid next to anything about the play, Reid's breathing grew erratic and he stopped talking. Hotch laid a hand on Reid's knee. "You alright?"

Reid nodded sharply, but it didn't convince either of them.

Hotch didn't remove his hand from Reid's knee, not until a few minutes later, when Reid whispered "Quantico". Then he quickly uncuffed Reid, who didn't seem to register a lot.

Hotch brought Reid's hands back to his – Reid's – front and started to massage his wrists, which had red lines around them. That appeared to bring Reid back to reality, because after ninety seconds or so, he snagged his wrists back. Hotch nodded to the couch, and Reid stood shakily and sat down, as did Hotch.

Hotch handed Reid a glass of water, which he sipped gratefully. As he set it down, he shuddered. "That was.." He trailed off.

"Awful, but it could've been worse?" Hotch supplied.

"Yeah. That," Reid said.

Hotch nodded. "I think you did a good job."

"Do you think so?" Reid didn't appear to believe him.

"I do," Hotch said, making eye contact. "You didn't go so far past your boundaries that you lost yourself, and I think that's good. Does the metal of the handcuffs bother you?"

"What do you mean?" Reid asked, confused.

"The material," Hotch said. "Because if the issue is both being restrained and the feel and sound of metal, I can just as easily bind you with something else. A belt, rope, flexicuffs.. even a tie should work."

Reid nodded slowly, again apparently glad for the distraction. "A tie would be inappropriate.. and a belt wouldn't ease anything. Rope should work."

Hotch agreed with the tie comment.

After Reid had emptied his glass of water, he looked indecisive for a few moments, then started talking. "Would you mind if I take fifteen minutes for myself, and then we try again?" he asked, hesitating.

"Of course not," Hotch said. "Take as long as you need."

Reid nodded and stood. "There's a coffee maker in the kitchen." He then disappeared to what Hotch suspected was his bedroom.

Reid returned after exactly fifteen minutes. Hotch was reading one of Reid's magazines, but looked up when he heard Reid come in. He studied Reid carefully, noting he was composed and calm, although nervous. He wasn't anxious or scared, though. That was good. He was also determined.

"Rope or cuffs?" Hotch asked after Reid had sat down.

Reid blinked. "I don't think I have a suitable rope."

Hotch held up some. "I brought some. I wasn't sure what you had in mind when I came here. This stuff shouldn't give you too much of a rope burn."

Reid nodded, a little thrown off track. "Rope, then?" He shivered.

Hotch looked at him with concern, but nodded. "Go sit down if you're ready," he offered, making it clear that he'd wait as long as needed.

Reid took a minute before sitting down, his back against the coffee table. Hotch sat down next to him. "Ready?"

Reid closed his eyes, leaned back and nodded.

Hotch took care with the knots, making sure they were not so tight they would cut off circulation, but not so loose they would fall off, either. As it was, Reid would probably be able to get out of them if he tried, but not easily.

This time Hotch questioned Reid on different interpretations of the Fifth Amendment.. then some articles from the USA PATRIOT Act.

After ten minutes or so, Reid stopped talking. He appeared to be forcing himself to calm down by not doing anything he didn't have to do.


	15. Reid Accused, 1

The suspect was being arrested just as the jet touched the ground, so the BAU wasn't present during the arrest.

Morgan went in to talk to him, first. The kid.. sory, man.. looked easy to intimidate. Morgan was good at that.

"Spencer Reid," he started, looking menacing and leaning over Reid. "You're in a lot of trouble."

Reid didn't respond.

"You're being charged with the murder of seven women. Did you know that?"

This time Reid did respond. "I'd like to speak with my attorney."

Morgan groaned.

The lawyer – Melanie Grint – arrived within an hour. She and Reid talked quietly for twenty minutes or so, before she knocked on the door of the interview room. "My client and I are ready for you," she said as the door opened. "He asked me to say that he won't talk to the agent who was in here earlier."

Hotch and Rossi exchanged looks. "I'll go in," Hotch said. "If the color's the problem, Italian probably won't help either."

"Mr. Reid," Hotch said. "My name is SSA Hotchner and I'm with the FBI."

Reid considered him for a moment. "It's Dr. Reid. And do you mean, former prosecutor Aaron Hotchner?"

Hotch didn't let his surprise show. "Yes."

"You're good," Reid said, nodding. "Or at least – you're reasonable. I read a few of your trial transcripts. You don't charge people with irrelevant things. May I explain something?"

"Of course," Hotch said as he sat down.

"I'm not a racist. I just don't like the way the agent who was in here earlier behaved. May I alert you to something?"

"If you want," Hotch replied mildly.

"I have not yet been given the Miranda warning. You may wish to rectify that."

THAT was new.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning, if you wish. If you decide to answer any questions now, without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Do you understand?"

"I do understand these rights, Agent Hotchner," Reid said. "I wish to exercise my right to have an attorney present, and I am exercising that right. I have consulted with an attorney before saying anything that might have been incriminating under circumstances where I had been given a Miranda warning. I do not wish to exercise my right to remain silent. I may wish to have an attorney present during questioning in the future. I also understand that anything I say or do may be used against me in a court of law."

Hotch nodded. There was way of misunderstanding that. "You're Dr. Reid?"

"I am," Reid said. He was skittish now. "I received my doctorate last year and hope to receive a second one this year."

Hotch nodded. "Did you kill your mother?"

"No," Reid said. "And just in case you think I'm a delusional Angel of Mercy killer – no, I didn't kill her illness, either." His voice wavered slightly, in sadness.

"Your mother was schizophrenic," Hotch stated.

"She had schizophrenia," Reid corrected. "I assume your next step is going to be introducing all circumstantial evidence. May I introduce my circumstantial counter-evidence first?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows and waited.

"She'll be admitted at Bennington Sanitarium in twenty-six days. She'd be, at least.." Reid's voice trailed off. "I already made the first payment. The place does not come cheap and I'm not rich, so I wouldn't have arranged for her care, nor would I have paid for it, if I wasn't planning on.. making use of it."

"Noted," Hotch said dryly. "May I ask why you wanted to have a lawyer present during the questioning? She hasn't said anything so far."

Reid shrugged. "I wasn't planning on it. Then you send in an agent who was practically trying to feel me up from behind, and I thought it might be a good idea."

Hotch blinked. Sure, it could be seen that way, he supposed, if someone leaned over you in that way, but still.

"I'm perfectly capable of speaking for myself – I know the letter of the law at least as well as Melanie does," he said with a small nod to his lawyer. "But if you slip poison in my coffee, I'd really like to have a witness."

Hotch stopped himself from raising his eyebrows. "I didn't take you to be arrogant."

Reid thought for a moment and turned to his lawyer. "Title 18 of the United States Code, section 2340. It's the start of chapter 113C."

Melanie thought for a moment. "Isn't that about the definitions of torture?"

"1."torture" means an act committed by a person acting under the color of law specifically intended to inflict severe physical or mental pain or suffering (other than pain or suffering incidental to lawful sanctions) upon another person within his custody or physical control; 2. "severe mental pain or suffering" means the prolonged mental harm caused by or resulting from— A. the intentional infliction or threatened infliction of severe physical pain or suffering; B. the administration or application, or threatened administration or application, of mind-altering substances or other procedures calculated to disrupt profoundly the senses or the personality; C. the threat of imminent death; or D. the threat that another person will imminently be subjected to death, severe physical pain or suffering, or the administration or application of mind-altering substances or other procedures calculated to disrupt profoundly the senses or personality; and 3. "United States" means the several States of the United States, the District of Columbia, and the commonwealths, territories, and possessions of the United States."

Reid shrugged a little self-conscious. "My memory is pretty good. And I also wanted someone to make sure Mom doesn't get buried until I'm out of here."

Hotch nodded. "Alright. Do you recognize this woman?"

He slid Reid a photograph.

"She was on the news, murdered on the 18th of April. Her name is Sue Timberlake, there was something about a need for medication said in the press conference. She's from Vegas. I have never personally met her, nor do I know anyone who has. At the 18th of April, I had breakfast and dinner in public places, having lunch in my dorm room. I posted a letter around four o'clock. I was working on my dissertation for my Chemistry PhD. So I don't have an alibi you can confirm."

"We will verify that with campus security."

Reid blinked. "I attend Caltech, Agent Hotchner. Caltech relies on the Honor Code, not on security, to enforce good behavior. As a result, the security is pretty lax. But if you want to.. go ahead." Reid shrugged.


	16. Reid Accused, 2

a"You have a suspect in custody?" Aaron Hotchner asked after introductions were made. There were seven previously unconnected victims in Las Vegas. As soon as they had been connected, the BAU had been called in.

"Yes, the son of the last victim," the detective nodded. "Little shit lawyered up as soon as he arrived."

"Where is he now?" Hotch asked.

"This way," the detective motioned for the team to follow him. Morgan and Dave were at the last crime scene, JJ was working on a press conference, and Prentiss was here with him.

In the interrogation room, a young man – a boy, really – was talking with a woman in a suit – his lawyer, Hotch realized. They were talking softly with one another, and Hotch couldn't hear what they were saying.

After observing them for a few minutes, Hotch walked to the door of the interrogation room and entered.

The young man – Hotch hadn't caught his name – looked up. "Would you mind giving us another few minutes? I am allowed to consult with an attorney before any interrogation. I would also like to point out that I have not yet received a Miranda warning, although I have been asked questions. You do realize that anything said during questioning before one is informed of their rights is inadmissible in court, even if it is repeated afterwards? Nineteen sixty six, Miranda v. Arizona, Supreme Court. Miranda confessed guilt but couldn't be convicted. Fifth and sixth amendment. Need I continue?"

Hotch had to admit, he was a little thrown aback. The attorney was holding in laughter. However, he couldn't say that the man wasn't right. "How much time do you need?" Hotch wasn't planning on granting him that time if it took longer than half an hour, but it was only polite to ask.

"Six minutes, I think," Reid said.

Hotch was surprised at how precise the man was. He nodded and left the room.

Outside, he turned to the detective. "Was he right about the Miranda warning?"

The detective flushed a little. "He is," he grumped. "Most teenagers haven't heard of those rights, let alone they use them."

Prentiss, who was watching Reid through the screen, spoke. "Has he admitted to anything yet? Because he is right, even if he repeats it after you've given him the warning, it will be inadmissible as evidence."

"No," the detective grumped again. "He hasn't."

They watched Reid and his lawyer conversing for a few minutes. "How old is he? What's his name, actually?"

"Spencer Reid, he just turned 18," the detective spoke. Just then, the lawyer stood and knocked at the door. Hotch looked at the clock and saw that it had been exactly six minutes.

That was just plain creepy.

"My client and I are ready for you," the lawyer spoke. "I am Melanie Grint. My client wishes to speak with those highest in the chain of command, which I believe is you," she nodded to Hotch.

Hotch raised his eyebrows but decided to humor the request. After all, he had already entered the room once.

Hotch followed the lawyer into the room. "My name is SAC Hotchner. To avoid any confusion - You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning, if you wish. If you decide to answer any questions now, without an attorney present, you will still have the right to stop answering at any time until you talk to an attorney. Do you understand?"

Spencer Reid's eyebrows rose a little. "You are intelligent. I understand I may have an attorney present during the answering of any questions. I understand that everything I say may be used against me in a court of law. I understand I may retract or exercise my rights as I see fit. I understand I do not have to answer any questions." He paused. "Was that conclusive?"

Hotch was surprised at the way Reid phrased his sentences. It belied his age. "Yes." Before he could continue, Reid spoke.

"I want to make a deal. The reason I have not asked for the DA is because I want to make a deal concerning the investigation. I want you to pursue a certain, additional line of investigation."

Hotch's eyebrows twitched. Just who did this kid think he was?

"Why would I be interested in such a deal?"

Reid clearly expected that answer. "In return, I would not be completely silent. I am not asking you to drop a line of investigation, just to pursue an additional one. It's like this – I give you a name or a description of some persons and you check their alibis."

Hotch nodded. It appeared the man was trying to maintain a statement of his innocence.

"Who would these people be?"

Reid gave a bitter smile. "William Reid, and anyone he had a relationship with in the past nineteen years."

Hotch was intrigued. "Family of yours, Mr. Reid?"

Reid gave Hotch an annoyed look. Hotch's eyebrows twitched. People didn't give him annoyed looks, especially not eighteen-year-olds.

"He left when I was ten, but never legally divorced. That gives him and anyone he has a relationship with a motive. And I don't rule out he might have had an affair. He might possibly have quit a relationship with someone a short while before he left – it would alleviate any feelings of guilt he might have had, because this way he wouldn't be leaving my mom for another woman. If this happened, that woman would have a motive: revenge. If she were a mother herself, she may have waited until I was eighteen because then she wouldn't be orphaning a child. That last point would also go for anyone he couldn't marry because he didn't divorce." He shot Hotch another annoyed look. "And unless you wish to be addressed as Mr. Hotchner, please address me by my title."

That made sense, in a way. Hotch was also quite impressed. "I will inform my colleague to search for the people you described. And what do you mean by 'title'?" If Reid actually had a title, that would explain the annoyed look after being addressed as Mister Reid.

Melanie Grint gave an amused snort. "I will leave you to it, then. I'll return tomorrow." She stood.

"You're not staying?" Hotch was surprised.

"_Dr. Reid_," the lawyer put a large emphasis on the title, "wished me to witness the formalization of the deal you just made. He also asked me to arrange a few things, which I will do once I am at my office." She gave Hotch a hard look. "I trust I will be informed of any progress in the investigation?"

Hotch affirmed this and signaled for the door to be opened.

"Good luck, Doc," Melanie said with a slightly affectionate smile towards the apparent Dr. Reid.

Reid's smile back was guarded and a little strained, but also affectionate. "See you tomorrow."

Hotch stepped outside the room to converse with Prentiss. Prentiss promised to call Garcia for the information on William Reid and his lovers. Then Hotch stepped back inside and sat down opposite of Reid.

Before he could speak, Reid opened his mouth. "If you have something better to do, I don't mind talking to one of your colleagues. I merely wanted a person of authority for the deal we just made. I also want you to know that I'm calling my attorney if you try the good cop-bad cop technique on me. Everything I have read suggests that technique doesn't work well with people who have legal counsel. And I have not actually made my one phone call yet."

Hotch was surprised. The man on the other side of the table – the one wearing the handcuffs – was proactive but not aggressive. "You appear to be well informed of your rights."

Reid gave a slightly embarrassed look. "I can recite the Nevada State law, the original Constitution, the Bill of Rights and the subsequent amendments, you only have to ask. I can also recite the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

"You're eighteen," Hotch observed.

"I have nearly finished my second doctorate and I have one BA," Reid said in the same voice.

"Do you like your mother?" Hotch asked.

Reid hesitated. "I love my mother."

That statement, including the hesitation, sent off warning bells in Hotch's head.

"You don't like her?" Hotch asked.

Reid gave Hotch a considering look. "Do you have an annoying little brother that you don't always like, but love no matter what? Did you like your parents even when you were fighting, although you did probably love them?" Reid looked shocked at what he had said. "I don't mean to bring up anything, I am just trying to put things in perspective. I love my mother and I always have."

"You use the present tense," Hotch observed back. He couldn't really say that Reid was incorrect in making nuances between 'love' and 'like', though.

Reid gave a shrug which just _screamed_ 'helpless' or 'lost'. "I haven't even been allowed to see her body. Can you please get on with your questions?" He looked tired. "Sorry."

"Your mother was ill." Hotch ignored Reid's request.

"My mother had an illness," Reid corrected. "Saying that she was ill implies that's all she was."

Hotch officially decided this man liked linguistic nuances and he was nearly obsessive-compulsive in his pursuit of them. "She had an illness, then."

Reid was silent for a moment. "You can add to your circumstantial counter-evidence that I have made arrangements for her to be admitted in a hospital for next week."

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "Circumstantial counter-evidence?"

Reid nodded. "Sure. If there is counter-evidence and circumstantial evidence, surely there must be such a thing as circumstantial counter-evidence."

Hotch hated to admit that made sense.

"Did you hate her for her illness?" Hotch asked. "It would be understandable."

Reid gave Hotch a very sharp look and when he spoke, his voice was low and there was a warning in his voice. "SAC Hotchner," he spoke, "I will warn you. Pursuing this line of questioning will bring you dangerously close to insulting my mother, who is _dead_. Don't play games with me. I love my mother, regardless of how her illness affected her."

Hotch chose to heed the warning – for now.

"Did you kill her?"

"Finally getting to the point, are we?" Reid muttered under his breath. He looked up and met Hotch's eyes. "No, I did not kill my mom, Diana Reid. Nor did I kill anyone else. And I hope you find the person that did."

"Okay," Hotch acknowledged. "How did her illness affect your situation?"

"I took care of her, instead of the other way around," Reid said matter-of-factly. "Before my father left, her illness wasn't that bad, but after that it was worse. I hired a nurse when I went to college."

"How old were you when you went to college?" Hotch hadn't had the change to read the man's file.

"Twelve," Reid spoke. "And my father left when I was ten, but I have already told you that."

"Why did you choose to have her admitted?" Hotch was curious.

A look of _something _flashed across Reid's face – shame, perhaps, or guilt? Interesting. "I thought it was better."

"You don't think so anymore." It was a statement.

"I'm not sure," Reid admitted. "If she was the target or trigger for these murders, then it could have given the perpetrator a timeline."

Hotch had to agree with him, although he didn't show it. "Why do you think your mother was the original target?"

Reid gave Hotch a look that was almost amused. "Because you do." At Hotch's look, he elaborated. "I'm here, and I don't get the impression that anyone else is."

That, too, was true. Hotch found he could have liked the other man – under different circumstances.

However, it was also slightly disturbing. "You find that amusing." Statement.

Reid shrugged. "I find your tactics amusing. They would probably work on most guilty people. However, the fact that I am not guilty of murder and that I'm not most people makes that irrelevant."

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "I didn't take you to be arrogant." And he hadn't, honestly.

Reid gave Hotch a considering look. "I already deducted you hadn't read my file. Shall I give you a general idea what you would find in there?"

Hotch gave a severely unimpressed look. "Do your worst."

Reid shrugged. "Okay. My father walked out on us when I was 10. I also finished elementary school at 10, but I spent more time in the library than in the classroom. Teachers didn't like my presence because I would correct them if they were incorrect or incomplete. I graduated from high school at twelve, went to Caltech, and graduated with a double major at 16, in Mathematics and Chemistry. At 17, I got a Bachelor's Degree in Engineering and a doctorate in Mathematics. I am nearly finished with my doctorate in Engineering. I have read every book in the Las Vegas Public Library and about a third of the books in Millikan. I plan to get a doctorate in Chemistry next, and then I think I'll go to Yale to study Psychology and Sociology. I think I'll be finished with those by twenty-one.

"Most people don't graduate with a double major at 16 and don't have a doctorate at 17. Most people don't manage to care for their mo –" Reid's breath hitched. "Most children don't manage to care for an ill parent the way I did when they were ten years old and keep CPS away at the same time. I don't think it's arrogance that I say I'm not most people. I'm not saying I'm better, just that I don't fit the usual picture." Reid shrugged. "Correct me if I'm wrong, because I would really like to hear just how I would have fit the picture of the usual happy-go-lucky ten-year-old."

Hotch had to give it to Reid – he was right. "Okay, so you're not most people. What does that make you?"

Reid looked thrown aback, but gave a slightly defiant look. "Pass. Next question."

Again, Hotch raised an eyebrow. "You pass." He sounded slightly incredulous and severely unimpressed.

"Yes," Reid nodded empathically. "I pass. Because the answer to that question would not be helpful for your investigation and I even though you are a psychologist, I have had enough mandatory counseling sessions in my life to be severely bored by them."

Apparently Hotch's surprise showed on his face.

"You're from the BAU. The BAU requires a degree in psychology. So, you have studied psychology."

It was silent for a few moment. Then Reid spoke again. "Can I get something to eat? I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm craving caffeine."

Hotch answered he would get Reid something and left the room.

INSERT LINE

It appeared that Morgan and Dave had arrived from the crime scene while Hotch was with Reid. They were all watching Reid through the screen.

Prentiss looked at Hotch. "Garcia is working on William Reid and his lovers," she said.

Hotch nodded. "Keep me informed."

"Thought of offering him a job, Aaron?" Dave commented. "He'd make a good profiler."

"He's eighteen," Hotch sighed. "Do you have a file on him?"

"You're not saying you wouldn't offer him a job if he was older." Dave sounded smug.

Prentiss pressed a file in Hotch's hands. "The file. Garcia is working on CPS," she commented.

Hotch nodded. "Good. Morgan, get him some food. Prentiss, bring him coffee. I want to see how he reacts to women." He paused for a moment. "Dave, what did the crime scene show?"

As Prentiss and Morgan went to their tasks, Dave reported some details about the crime scene.

Through the screen, Hotch saw Prentiss entering the interrogation room. "I have coffee," she said.

Reid gave a grateful smile. "Thanks. I haven't had caffeine in hours."

"You like coffee, then?" Prentiss gave a flirtatious smile.

Reid didn't appear to notice. "Yeah, I drink a lot of it."

"He doesn't connect on an emotional level," Rossi observed. "Only on an intellectual level. He can't make small talk, but it's not because he makes people uncomfortable."

Hotch nodded. "He's oblivious," he supplied.

"That he is," Rossi agreed. "I'd say he's never been on a date in his life."

Hotch gave Rossi an incredulous look. "Dave, he's eighteen."

Rossi looked at Hotch. "My point exactly. Adults are too old and he doesn't connect with people his own age."

"You have a point," Hotch said quietly. "I don't think he did it."

Dave looked at Reid again. "I think he can be a master manipulator when he likes to be. The question is, is he using those skills now or not?"

Hotch noticed Reid and Prentiss were now talking in another language – Arabic, perhaps?

Rossi snorted. "I think Prentiss is teaching him something. And the guy doesn't even notice she's trying to flirt, he just thinks the lesson is interesting."

Hotch had to agree with that.

After about fifteen minutes, Morgan entered with Chinese food in his hands. Hotch noticed Reid immediately stiffened and looked at Morgan warily. "He's afraid," Dave observed.

Hotch nodded. "Morgan isn't even trying to be terrifying. He's looming, but not really doing something."

When Morgan suggested Reid eat, Reid immediately started eating.

"Abusive household?" Hotch supplied.

Rossi shrugged. "Could be."

When Prentiss suggested they leave, Reid was obviously trying not to look too relieved.

"Is there any Chinese left?" Hotch asked Morgan. "I'd like to go in again, but it will probably make him uncomfortable if he's the only one eating."

Morgan shook his head. "Sorry."

Hotch made an acknowledging gesture. "Prentiss, what were the two of you talking about?"

Prentiss snorted. "His whole behavior was an insult to my flirting skills. He asked whether I was a relative of Ambassador Prentiss, and when I said I was her daughter, he asked about my language skills. Apparently he knew some of my mother's postings. Well, he can read and listen in Arabic, but he can't speak it. I was correcting his pronunciation."

Hotch nodded and continued observing Reid. "He's terrified of you," he nodded to Morgan.

Morgan nodded. "I noticed. I didn't do anything, though. He immediately started eating when I asked him whether or not he liked Chinese."

Then Hotch started reading Reid's file while Dave, Morgan and Prentiss discussed the profile.

After twenty minutes, Hotch went in again. He took two cups of coffee with him, noticing Reid had finished his.

"Here you are," Hotch said quietly when he put the cup of coffee before Reid.

He then noticed that Reid wasn't cuffed.

"Who released you from your cuffs?" Hotch said a little angrily.

Reid looked up guiltily. "It's easier to eat when you have both hands," he said. "So I freed myself. You can put it back on if you want to. If I was planning an escape, I would have pretended it was still on."

Hotch sighed. "I'll re-cuff you when I leave."

"Thanks." Reid looked oddly grateful.

Hotch then questioned Reid on his alibi's at the time of the murders.

Victim one: "I was at the seventh floor of the Millikan Library, navigating the shelves. I was there from thirteen past one to four forty-nine. I should be on the security camera's when I entered and exited the building."

Victim two: "Do you want to know? I don't think you can check it." After receiving an affirming response, Reid spoke again. "I was working on some papers in my dorm, and after that, I was sleeping. I missed dinner. It's theoretically possible to go from Pasadena to Vegas in three hours and forty-nine minutes by car, but I don't have one. So no, I don't have an alibi you can confirm."

Reid was just about to get started on Victim Three when Rossi barged in. "You didn't tell us your mother was abusive," Rossi spoke.

"Dave, what?" Hotch gave Dave an angry look, apparently not pleased with the interruption.

Ignoring Hotch, Dave continued talking. "I got your CPS reports. And while we were at it, we also found your medical records."

Reid had stiffened a little. "Dates?"

Dave handed a list to Reid.

"I'm not going to discuss these events with you. I will say that none of these injuries were caused by Diana Reid. I will repeat that under oath, if that is needed."

Apparently, that was not enough.

"None of these were caused by your mother? What about your mother's illness, then?" Dave said angrily. Hotch wondered what would happen now – he did remember Reid's warning not to speak ill of his mother.

Reid just gave Dave an ultimately blank look and didn't say anything. When Dave looked to be about to continue speaking, Hotch decided that it was enough. He was already standing, and now stepped stand between Reid and Rossi. "Dave, out."

Rossi apparently didn't plan on doing so and opened his mouth.

"_No,_ Dave. Out." Hotch was only a few centimeters longer than Rossi was, but used that to his full advantage.

Reid was staring blankly. "I'm sorry about that," Hotch said sincerely apologetic.

Reid was silent for a few minutes. Then he started talking in a very flat voice. "David Rossi only sees the answer he likes most and refuses to acknowledge any other possibilities. Have you read "Deviance"? He doesn't reference Freud once, not even to refute his theories. You can't just pretend theories don't exist if you don't like them. And given the similarities between narcissism and an Oedipal complex, that's just inexcusable."

Wait a minute. Similarities between narcissism and an Oedipal complex? Hotch was curious, and he was glad Reid was, at least, talking. "What do you mean by those similarities?"

"Liking your- liking a parent is liking yourself, in a way. Genotype and all that. I'm done talking." Reid continued to say just as flatly, emotionlessly, and he rested his head on the table.

Hotch knew, really knew he had to recuff the man, and he couldn't be more sorry for it. "Dr. Reid?" When there was no response, he tried it again. "Dr. Reid?"

Hotch stood and walked to Reid and tapped him on the shoulder. Reid's head shot up and he glared at Hotch.

"I'm sorry," Hotch said sincerely apologetic, both for startling the young man and for what he had to do. "Left or right wrist?"

Reid held up his left wrist in resignation.

INSERT LINE

Reid did not sleep that night, that Hotch could see on the footage from the camera. The next morning, he didn't talk much either. Hotch noted that ever since David Rossi had stormed in and accused Reid's mother of child abuse, the only thing Reid had said about himself was "I'm done talking". Everything else was said as a statistic. When Hotch asked Reid what he wanted for breakfast, Reid's answer was an estimate on how long a human body could go without food or water.

Hotch recognized it for the defensive technique it was. He wasn't given anything away that could be used against him on an emotional level.

Hotch got Reid sandwiches and coffee, anyway. Reid drank all of the coffee, but only nibbled at the sandwiches. All attempts to engage Reid in a conversation failed.

There was a knock on the door, which then was opened. Melanie Grint walked in. She barely glanced at Hotch before touching Reid's shoulder worriedly. "Doc, you're not feeling well. Total shut-down." She glared at Hotch. "What did you do to him? Never mind, get him a hot washcloth, a blanket, a pitcher of water and lot of coffee. And make sure it gets warmer in here." When Hotch didn't immediately move into action, her glare intensified. "Now."

Instead, Hotch walked to the one-way window and signaled for the unseen people at the other side to do what the lawyer had asked. Then he pushed a few buttons to up the heath.

"What's going on?" Hotch asked somewhat concerned.

The attorney frowned. "He's shut down. Likely a combination from a lack of sleep, a lack of caffeine, lack of warmth and an emotional trigger. What happened?" Hotch noticed she kept tracing a small circle on Reid's upper arm.

"One of my agents stormed in yesterday evening and accused Reid of lying about his mother not abusing him. After that, he stopped talking about himself, but he was still responsive. He talked about Freud, but the only time when he used the word "I" was when he said he was done talking. When I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, he told me how long a human can go without water or food. He drank his coffee, nibbled at his sandwich and stopped responding." Hotch frowned.

The attorney nodded. "Combination of an acute stress reaction and a panic attack. Accusing someone's beloved mother of abusing him when she hasn't been dead for more than twenty-four hours and he hasn't seen the body yet isn't a good idea under usual circumstances. Doing it in a cold interrogation room while simultaneously accusing said person of murder? Not a good idea."

The door opened and two police officers walked in with water, coffee, a bowl of water with a washcloth, and a blanket. They were directed by Melanie Grint's glare to put the things on the table and then directed by said glare to get the hell out. Hotch noted that she was even more effective with her glares than he was.

Grint frowned. "Uncuff him," she said. "I hadn't noticed he was still cuffed."

Hotch did so.

Grint wrapped the blanket around Reid, making sure to tuck his hands by his sides, and gently washed his face. Reid shivered. "Good job, Ten," she spoke encouragingly. Her other hand was still tracing a circle on Reid's upper arm. Sensory stimulation? Hotch wondered how often the lawyer had done this before – she seemed to know what worked and what didn't.


End file.
